27. MS. Many a man ... is.136. MS. ryde, but see v.140.v.187.Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,Layd itt on the porters arme.The rings so often used in ballads to conciliate the porter would seem to be not personal ornaments, but coins. For an account of Ring Money, see the paper of Sir William Betham, in the seventeenth volume of theTransactions of the Royal Irish Academy.
27. MS. Many a man ... is.
136. MS. ryde, but see v.140.
v.187.
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,Layd itt on the porters arme.
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,Layd itt on the porters arme.
The rings so often used in ballads to conciliate the porter would seem to be not personal ornaments, but coins. For an account of Ring Money, see the paper of Sir William Betham, in the seventeenth volume of theTransactions of the Royal Irish Academy.
FromReliques of English Poetry, i. 44.
"This old romantic tale," says Percy, "was preserved in the Editor's folio MS., but in so very defective and mutilated a condition, (not from any chasm in the MS., but from great omission in the transcript, probably copied from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel,) that it was necessary to supply several stanzas in the first part, and still more in the second, to connect and complete the story."
Many of the interpolations acknowledged in such general terms might with some confidence be pointed out. Among them are certainly most, if not all, of the last twelve stanzas of the Second Part, which include the catastrophe to the story. It is difficult to believe that this charming romance had so tragic and so sentimental a conclusion.
The first part of this ballad is preserved in Scotland, under the title ofKing Malcolm and Sir Colvin, and is printed in our Appendix from Buchan's collection. In this, Sir Colvin weds the princess after his victory over the Elrick knight.
In Ireland, ferr over the sea,There dwelleth a bonnye kinge;And with him a yong and comlye knighte,Men call him Syr Cauline.The kinge had a ladye to his daughter,5In fashyon she hath no peere;And princely wightes that ladye wooedTo be theyr wedded feere.Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,But nothing durst he saye,10Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,But deerlye he lovde this may.Till on a daye it so beffellGreat dill to him was dight;The maydens love removde his mynd,15To care-bed went the knighte.One while he spred his armes him fro,One while he spred them nye:"And aye! but I winne that ladyes love,For dole now I mun dye."20And whan our parish-masse was done,Our kinge was bowne to dyne:He sayes, "Where is Syr Cauline,That is wont to serve the wyne?"Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,25And fast his handes gan wringe:"Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye,Without a good leechinge.""Fetche me downe my daughter deere,She is a leeche fulle fine;30Goe take him doughe and the baken bread,And serve him with the wyne soe red:Lothe I were him to tine."Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,Her maydens followyng nye:35"O well," she sayth, "how doth my lord?""O sicke, thou fayr ladye.""Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame,Never lye soe cowardlee;For it is told in my fathers halle40You dye for love of mee.""Fayre ladye, it is for your loveThat all this dill I drye:For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,Then were I brought from bale to blisse,45No lenger wold I lye.""Sir knighte, my father is a kinge,I am his onlye heire;Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte,I never can be youre fere."50"O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter,And I am not thy peere;But let me doe some deedes of armes,To be your bacheleere.""Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe,55My bacheleere to bee,(But ever and aye my heart wold rue,Giff harm shold happe to thee,)"Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne,Upon the mores brodinge;60And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all nighte,Untile the fayre morninge?"For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte,Will examine you beforne;And never man bare life awaye,65But he did him scath and scorne."That knighte he is a foul paynim,And large of limb and bone;And but if heaven may be thy speede,Thy life it is but gone."70"Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke,For thy sake, fair ladie;And Ile either bring you a ready token,Or Ile never more you see."The lady has gone to her own chaumbere,75Her maydens following bright;Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone,And to the Eldridge hills is gone,For to wake there all night.Unto midnight, that the moone did rise,80He walked up and downe;Then a lightsome bugle heard he bloweOver the bents soe browne;Quoth hee, "If cryance come till my heart,I am ffar from any good towne."85And soone he spyde on the mores so broadA furyous wight and fell;A ladye bright his brydle led,Clad in a fayre kyrtell:And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline,90"O man, I rede thee flye,For but ifcryance come till thy heart,I weene but thou mun dye."He sayth, "No cryance comes till my heart,Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee;95For, cause thou minged not Christ before,The less me dreadeth thee."The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed;Syr Cauline bold abode:Then either shooke his trustye speare,100And the timber these two children bareSoe soone in sunder slode.Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes,And layden on full faste,Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde,105They all were well-nye brast.The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,And stiffe in stower did stande;But Syr Cauline with an aukeward strokeHe smote off his right-hand;110That soone he, with paine and lacke of bloud,Fell downe on that lay-land.Then up Syr Cauline lift his brandeAll over his head so hye:"And here I sweare by the holy roode,115Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye."Then up and came that ladye brighte,Faste ringing of her hande:"For the maydens love, that most you love,Withhold that deadlye brande:120"For the maydens love that most you love,Now smyte no more I praye;And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord,He shall thy hests obaye.""Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte,125And here on this lay-land,That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,And therto plight thy hand:"And that thou never on Eldridge [hill] comeTo sporte, gamon, or playe;130And that thou here give up thy armesUntil thy dying daye."The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes,With many a sorrowfulle sighe;And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest,135Till the tyme that he shold dye.And he then up, and the Eldridge knighteSett him in his saddle anone;And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye,To theyr castle are they gone.140Then he tooke up the bloudy hand,That was so large of bone,And on it he founde five ringes of gold,Of knightes that had be slone.Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde,145As hard as any flint;And he tooke off those ringes five,As bright as fyre and brent.Home then pricked Syr Cauline,As light as leafe on tree;150I-wys he neither stint ne blanne,Till he his ladye see.Then downe he knelt upon his knee,Before that lady gay:"O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills;155These tokens I bring away.""Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline,Thrice welcome unto mee,For now I perceive thou art a true knighte,Of valour bolde and free."160"O ladye, I am thy own true knighte,Thy hests for to obaye;And mought I hope to winne thy love!"—No more his tonge colde say.The ladye blushed scarlette redde,165And fette a gentill sighe:"Alas! syr knight, how may this bee,For my degree's soe highe?"But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth,To be my batchilere,170Ile promise, if thee I may not wedde,I will have none other fere."Then shee held forthe her liley-white handTowards that knighte so free;He gave to it one gentill kisse,175His heart was brought from bale to blisse,The teares sterte from his ee."But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline,Ne let no man it knowe;For, and ever my father sholde it ken,180I wot he wolde us sloe."From that daye forthe, that ladye fayreLovde Syr Cauline the knighte;From that daye forthe, he only joydeWhan shee was in his sight.185Yea, and oftentimes they metteWithin a fayre arboure,Where they, in love and sweet daliaunce,Past manye a pleasaunt houre.
In Ireland, ferr over the sea,There dwelleth a bonnye kinge;And with him a yong and comlye knighte,Men call him Syr Cauline.
The kinge had a ladye to his daughter,5In fashyon she hath no peere;And princely wightes that ladye wooedTo be theyr wedded feere.
Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,But nothing durst he saye,10Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,But deerlye he lovde this may.
Till on a daye it so beffellGreat dill to him was dight;The maydens love removde his mynd,15To care-bed went the knighte.
One while he spred his armes him fro,One while he spred them nye:"And aye! but I winne that ladyes love,For dole now I mun dye."20
And whan our parish-masse was done,Our kinge was bowne to dyne:He sayes, "Where is Syr Cauline,That is wont to serve the wyne?"
Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,25And fast his handes gan wringe:"Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye,Without a good leechinge."
"Fetche me downe my daughter deere,She is a leeche fulle fine;30Goe take him doughe and the baken bread,And serve him with the wyne soe red:Lothe I were him to tine."
Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,Her maydens followyng nye:35"O well," she sayth, "how doth my lord?""O sicke, thou fayr ladye."
"Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame,Never lye soe cowardlee;For it is told in my fathers halle40You dye for love of mee."
"Fayre ladye, it is for your loveThat all this dill I drye:For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,Then were I brought from bale to blisse,45No lenger wold I lye."
"Sir knighte, my father is a kinge,I am his onlye heire;Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte,I never can be youre fere."50
"O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter,And I am not thy peere;But let me doe some deedes of armes,To be your bacheleere."
"Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe,55My bacheleere to bee,(But ever and aye my heart wold rue,Giff harm shold happe to thee,)
"Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne,Upon the mores brodinge;60And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all nighte,Untile the fayre morninge?
"For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte,Will examine you beforne;And never man bare life awaye,65But he did him scath and scorne.
"That knighte he is a foul paynim,And large of limb and bone;And but if heaven may be thy speede,Thy life it is but gone."70
"Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke,For thy sake, fair ladie;And Ile either bring you a ready token,Or Ile never more you see."
The lady has gone to her own chaumbere,75Her maydens following bright;Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone,And to the Eldridge hills is gone,For to wake there all night.
Unto midnight, that the moone did rise,80He walked up and downe;Then a lightsome bugle heard he bloweOver the bents soe browne;Quoth hee, "If cryance come till my heart,I am ffar from any good towne."85
And soone he spyde on the mores so broadA furyous wight and fell;A ladye bright his brydle led,Clad in a fayre kyrtell:
And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline,90"O man, I rede thee flye,For but ifcryance come till thy heart,I weene but thou mun dye."
He sayth, "No cryance comes till my heart,Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee;95For, cause thou minged not Christ before,The less me dreadeth thee."
The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed;Syr Cauline bold abode:Then either shooke his trustye speare,100And the timber these two children bareSoe soone in sunder slode.
Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes,And layden on full faste,Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde,105They all were well-nye brast.
The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,And stiffe in stower did stande;But Syr Cauline with an aukeward strokeHe smote off his right-hand;110That soone he, with paine and lacke of bloud,Fell downe on that lay-land.
Then up Syr Cauline lift his brandeAll over his head so hye:"And here I sweare by the holy roode,115Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye."
Then up and came that ladye brighte,Faste ringing of her hande:"For the maydens love, that most you love,Withhold that deadlye brande:120
"For the maydens love that most you love,Now smyte no more I praye;And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord,He shall thy hests obaye."
"Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte,125And here on this lay-land,That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,And therto plight thy hand:
"And that thou never on Eldridge [hill] comeTo sporte, gamon, or playe;130And that thou here give up thy armesUntil thy dying daye."
The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes,With many a sorrowfulle sighe;And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest,135Till the tyme that he shold dye.
And he then up, and the Eldridge knighteSett him in his saddle anone;And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye,To theyr castle are they gone.140
Then he tooke up the bloudy hand,That was so large of bone,And on it he founde five ringes of gold,Of knightes that had be slone.
Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde,145As hard as any flint;And he tooke off those ringes five,As bright as fyre and brent.
Home then pricked Syr Cauline,As light as leafe on tree;150I-wys he neither stint ne blanne,Till he his ladye see.
Then downe he knelt upon his knee,Before that lady gay:"O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills;155These tokens I bring away."
"Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline,Thrice welcome unto mee,For now I perceive thou art a true knighte,Of valour bolde and free."160
"O ladye, I am thy own true knighte,Thy hests for to obaye;And mought I hope to winne thy love!"—No more his tonge colde say.
The ladye blushed scarlette redde,165And fette a gentill sighe:"Alas! syr knight, how may this bee,For my degree's soe highe?
"But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth,To be my batchilere,170Ile promise, if thee I may not wedde,I will have none other fere."
Then shee held forthe her liley-white handTowards that knighte so free;He gave to it one gentill kisse,175His heart was brought from bale to blisse,The teares sterte from his ee.
"But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline,Ne let no man it knowe;For, and ever my father sholde it ken,180I wot he wolde us sloe."
From that daye forthe, that ladye fayreLovde Syr Cauline the knighte;From that daye forthe, he only joydeWhan shee was in his sight.185
Yea, and oftentimes they metteWithin a fayre arboure,Where they, in love and sweet daliaunce,Past manye a pleasaunt houre.
92, MS. For if.94, No inserted.
92, MS. For if.
94, No inserted.
Everye white will have its blacke,And everye sweete its sowre:This founde the Ladye ChristabelleIn an untimely howre.For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline5Was with that ladye faire,The kinge, her father, walked fortheTo take the evenyng aire:And into the arboure as he wentTo rest his wearye feet,10He found his daughter and Syr CaulineThere sette in daliaunce sweet.The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,And an angrye man was hee:"Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe15And rewe shall thy ladie."Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde,And throwne in dungeon deepe:And the ladye into a towre so hye,There left to wayle and weepe.20The queene she was Syr Caulines friend,And to the kinge sayd shee:"I praye you save Syr Caulines life,And let him banisht bee.""Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent25Across the salt sea fome:But here I will make thee a band,If ever he come within this land,A foule deathe is his doome."All woe-begone was that gentil knight30To parte from his ladye;And many a time he sighed sore,And cast a wistfulle eye:"Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte,Farre lever had I dye."35Fair Christabelle, that ladye bright,Was had forthe of the towre;But ever shee droopeth in her minde,As, nipt by an ungentle winde,Doth some faire lillye flowre.40And ever shee doth lament and weepe,To tint her lover soe:"Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee,But I will still be true."Manye a kinge, and manye a duke,45And lorde of high degree,Did sue to that fayre ladye of love;But never shee wolde them nee.When manye a daye was past and gone,Ne comforte she colde finde,50The kynge proclaimed a tourneament,To cheere his daughters mind.And there came lords, and there came knights,Fro manye a farre countrye,To break a spere for theyr ladyes love,55Before that faire ladye.And many a ladye there was sette,In purple and in palle;But faire Christabelle, soe woe-begone,Was the fayrest of them all.60Then manye a knighte was mickle of might,Before his ladye gaye;But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe,He wan the prize eche daye.His acton it was all of blacke,65His hewberke and his sheelde;Ne noe man wist whence he did come,Ne noe man knewe where he did gone,When they came out the feelde.And now three days were prestlye past70In feates of chivalrye,When lo, upon the fourth morninge,A sorrowfulle sight they see:A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,All foule of limbe and lere,75Two goggling eyen like fire farden,A mouthe from eare to eare.Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,That waited on his knee;And at his backe five heads he bare,80All wan and pale of blee."Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,"Behold that hend Soldain!Behold these heads I beare with me!They are kings which he hath slain.85"The Eldridge knight is his own cousine,Whom a knight of thine hath shent;And hee is come to avenge his wrong:And to thee, all thy knightes among,Defiance here hath sent.90"But yette he will appease his wrath,Thy daughters love to winne;And, but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,Thy halls and towers must brenne."Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee,95Or else thy daughter deere:Or else within these lists soe broad,Thou must finde him a peere."The king he turned him round aboute,And in his heart was woe:100"Is there never a knighte of my round tableThis matter will undergoe?"Is there never a knighte amongst yee allWill fight for my daughter and mee?Whoever will fight yon grimme Soldan,105Right fair his meede shall bee."For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,And of my crowne be heyre;And he shall winne fayre ChristabelleTo be his wedded fere."110But every knighte of his round tableDid stand both still and pale;For, whenever they lookt on the grim Soldan,It made their hearts to quail.All woe-begone was that fayre ladye,115When she sawe no helpe was nye:She cast her thought on her owne true-love,And the teares gusht from her eye.Up then sterte the stranger knighte,Sayd, "Ladye, be not affrayd;120Ile fight for thee with this grimme Soldan,Thoughe he be unmacklye made."And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,That lyeth within thy bowre,I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende,125Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.""Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,"The kinge he cryde, "with speede:Nowe, heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;My daughter is thy meede."130The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,And sayd, "Awaye, awaye!I sweare, as I am the hend Soldan,Thou lettest me here all daye."Then forthe the stranger knight he came,135In his blacke armoure dight:The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,"That this were my true knighte!"And nowe the gyaunt and knight be mettWithin the lists soe broad;140And now, with swordes soe sharpe of steele,They gan to lay on load.The Soldan strucke the knighte a strokeThat made him reele asyde:Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye,145And thrice she deeply sighde.The Soldan strucke a second stroke,And made the bloude to flowe:All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,And thrice she wept for woe.150The Soldan strucke a third fell stroke,Which brought the knighte on his knee:Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart,And she shriekt loud shriekings three.The knighte he leapt upon his feete,155All recklesse of the pain:Quoth hee, "But heaven be now my speede,Or else I shall be slaine."He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte,And spying a secrette part,160He drave it into the Soldans syde,And pierced him to the heart.Then all the people gave a shoute,Whan they sawe the Soldan falle:The ladye wept, and thanked Christ165That had reskewed her from thrall.And nowe the kinge, with all his barons,Rose uppe from offe his seate,And downe he stepped into the listesThat curteous knighte to greete.170But he, for payne and lacke of bloude,Was fallen into a swounde,And there, all walteringe in his gore,Lay lifelesse on the grounde."Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare,175Thou art a leeche of skille;Farre lever had I lose halfe my landesThan this good knighte sholde spille."Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye,To helpe him if she maye:180But when she did his beavere raise,"It is my life, my lord!" she sayes,And shriekte and swound awaye.Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes,When he heard his ladye crye:185"O ladye, I am thine owne true love;For thee I wisht to dye."Then giving her one partinge looke,He closed his eyes in death,Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde,190Begane to drawe her breathe.But when she found her comelye knighteIndeed was dead and gone,She layde her pale, cold cheeke to his,And thus she made her moane:195"O staye, my deare and onlye lord,For mee, thy faithfulle feere;'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,Who hast bought my love so deare."Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune,200And with a deep-fette sigheThat burst her gentle heart in twayne,Fayre Christabelle did dye.
Everye white will have its blacke,And everye sweete its sowre:This founde the Ladye ChristabelleIn an untimely howre.
For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline5Was with that ladye faire,The kinge, her father, walked fortheTo take the evenyng aire:
And into the arboure as he wentTo rest his wearye feet,10He found his daughter and Syr CaulineThere sette in daliaunce sweet.
The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,And an angrye man was hee:"Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe15And rewe shall thy ladie."
Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde,And throwne in dungeon deepe:And the ladye into a towre so hye,There left to wayle and weepe.20
The queene she was Syr Caulines friend,And to the kinge sayd shee:"I praye you save Syr Caulines life,And let him banisht bee."
"Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent25Across the salt sea fome:But here I will make thee a band,If ever he come within this land,A foule deathe is his doome."
All woe-begone was that gentil knight30To parte from his ladye;And many a time he sighed sore,And cast a wistfulle eye:"Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte,Farre lever had I dye."35
Fair Christabelle, that ladye bright,Was had forthe of the towre;But ever shee droopeth in her minde,As, nipt by an ungentle winde,Doth some faire lillye flowre.40
And ever shee doth lament and weepe,To tint her lover soe:"Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee,But I will still be true."
Manye a kinge, and manye a duke,45And lorde of high degree,Did sue to that fayre ladye of love;But never shee wolde them nee.
When manye a daye was past and gone,Ne comforte she colde finde,50The kynge proclaimed a tourneament,To cheere his daughters mind.
And there came lords, and there came knights,Fro manye a farre countrye,To break a spere for theyr ladyes love,55Before that faire ladye.
And many a ladye there was sette,In purple and in palle;But faire Christabelle, soe woe-begone,Was the fayrest of them all.60
Then manye a knighte was mickle of might,Before his ladye gaye;But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe,He wan the prize eche daye.
His acton it was all of blacke,65His hewberke and his sheelde;Ne noe man wist whence he did come,Ne noe man knewe where he did gone,When they came out the feelde.
And now three days were prestlye past70In feates of chivalrye,When lo, upon the fourth morninge,A sorrowfulle sight they see:
A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,All foule of limbe and lere,75Two goggling eyen like fire farden,A mouthe from eare to eare.
Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,That waited on his knee;And at his backe five heads he bare,80All wan and pale of blee.
"Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,"Behold that hend Soldain!Behold these heads I beare with me!They are kings which he hath slain.85
"The Eldridge knight is his own cousine,Whom a knight of thine hath shent;And hee is come to avenge his wrong:And to thee, all thy knightes among,Defiance here hath sent.90
"But yette he will appease his wrath,Thy daughters love to winne;And, but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,Thy halls and towers must brenne.
"Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee,95Or else thy daughter deere:Or else within these lists soe broad,Thou must finde him a peere."
The king he turned him round aboute,And in his heart was woe:100"Is there never a knighte of my round tableThis matter will undergoe?
"Is there never a knighte amongst yee allWill fight for my daughter and mee?Whoever will fight yon grimme Soldan,105Right fair his meede shall bee.
"For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,And of my crowne be heyre;And he shall winne fayre ChristabelleTo be his wedded fere."110
But every knighte of his round tableDid stand both still and pale;For, whenever they lookt on the grim Soldan,It made their hearts to quail.
All woe-begone was that fayre ladye,115When she sawe no helpe was nye:She cast her thought on her owne true-love,And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then sterte the stranger knighte,Sayd, "Ladye, be not affrayd;120Ile fight for thee with this grimme Soldan,Thoughe he be unmacklye made.
"And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,That lyeth within thy bowre,I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende,125Thoughe he be stiff in stowre."
"Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,"The kinge he cryde, "with speede:Nowe, heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;My daughter is thy meede."130
The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,And sayd, "Awaye, awaye!I sweare, as I am the hend Soldan,Thou lettest me here all daye."
Then forthe the stranger knight he came,135In his blacke armoure dight:The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,"That this were my true knighte!"
And nowe the gyaunt and knight be mettWithin the lists soe broad;140And now, with swordes soe sharpe of steele,They gan to lay on load.
The Soldan strucke the knighte a strokeThat made him reele asyde:Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye,145And thrice she deeply sighde.
The Soldan strucke a second stroke,And made the bloude to flowe:All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,And thrice she wept for woe.150
The Soldan strucke a third fell stroke,Which brought the knighte on his knee:Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart,And she shriekt loud shriekings three.
The knighte he leapt upon his feete,155All recklesse of the pain:Quoth hee, "But heaven be now my speede,Or else I shall be slaine."
He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte,And spying a secrette part,160He drave it into the Soldans syde,And pierced him to the heart.
Then all the people gave a shoute,Whan they sawe the Soldan falle:The ladye wept, and thanked Christ165That had reskewed her from thrall.
And nowe the kinge, with all his barons,Rose uppe from offe his seate,And downe he stepped into the listesThat curteous knighte to greete.170
But he, for payne and lacke of bloude,Was fallen into a swounde,And there, all walteringe in his gore,Lay lifelesse on the grounde.
"Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare,175Thou art a leeche of skille;Farre lever had I lose halfe my landesThan this good knighte sholde spille."
Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye,To helpe him if she maye:180But when she did his beavere raise,"It is my life, my lord!" she sayes,And shriekte and swound awaye.
Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes,When he heard his ladye crye:185"O ladye, I am thine owne true love;For thee I wisht to dye."
Then giving her one partinge looke,He closed his eyes in death,Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde,190Begane to drawe her breathe.
But when she found her comelye knighteIndeed was dead and gone,She layde her pale, cold cheeke to his,And thus she made her moane:195
"O staye, my deare and onlye lord,For mee, thy faithfulle feere;'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,Who hast bought my love so deare."
Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune,200And with a deep-fette sigheThat burst her gentle heart in twayne,Fayre Christabelle did dye.
69. "Syr Cauline here acts up to the genuine spirit of perfect chivalry. In old romances no incident is of more frequent occurrence than this, of knights already distinguished for feats of arms laying aside their wonted cognizances, and, under the semblance of stranger knights, manfully performing right worshipful and valiant deeds. How often is the renowned Arthur, in such exhibitions, obliged to exclaim, "O Jhesu, what knight is that arrayed all in grene (or as the case may be)? he justeth myghtily!" The Emperor of Almaine, in like manner, after the timely succor afforded him by Syr Gowghter, is anxious to learn the name of his modest but unknown deliverer." [So in the romance ofRoswall and Lillian, &c.]—Motherwell.
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 252.
The story ofFair Annieis widely disseminated. The substance of it is found in the beautiful romance of Marie de France, theLai le Frein, of which an ancient English translation is printed in Weber'sMetrical Romances, i. 357. The Swedish and Danish ballads go under the same name ofFair Anna, and may be seen in Arwidsson'sSvenska Fornsånger, i. 291; Geijer'sSvenska Folk-Visor, i. 24; and Nyerup'sDanske Viser, iv. 59. Jamieson has rendered the Danish ballad very skilfully, in the Scottish dialect, from Syv's edition of theKæmpe Viser. In Dutch, the characters are Maid Adelhaid and King Alewijn (Hoffmann'sHolländische Volkslieder, 164.) The story as we have found it in German is considerably changed. SeeDie wiedergefundene Königstochter, inDes Knaben Wunderhorn, ii. 274, andSüdeli, Uhland'sVolkslieder, i. 273.
The Scottish versions ofFair Annieare quite numerous. A fragment of eight stanzas was published in Herd's collection, (Wha will bake my bridal bread, ed. 1776, i. 167.) Sir Walter Scott gave acomplete copy, from recitation in theMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Two other copies, also from oral tradition, were inserted by Jamieson in the Appendix to hisPopular Ballads, (Lady Jane, ii. 371,Burd Helen, ii. 376,) and from these he constructed the edition ofLady Jane, printed at p. 73 of the same volume. Motherwell (Minstrelsy) affords still another variety, and Chambers has compiled a ballad from all these sources and a manuscript furnished by Mr. Kinloch, (Scottish Ballads, p. 186.)
In this collection we have adopted the versions of Scott andMotherwell, giving Jamieson's translation ofSkjœn Annain our Appendix.
"It's narrow, narrow, make your bed,And learn to lie your lane;For I'm gaun o'er the sea, Fair Annie,A braw bride to bring hame.Wi' her I will get gowd and gear;Wi' you I ne'er got nane."But wha will bake my bridal bread,Or brew my bridal ale?And wha will welcome my brisk bride,That I bring o'er the dale?"—10"It's I will bake your bridal bread,And brew your bridal ale;And I will welcome your brisk bride,That you bring o'er the dale."—"But she that welcomes my brisk bride15Maun gang like maiden fair;She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,And braid her yellow hair."—"But how can I gang maiden-like,When maiden I am nane?20Have I not born seven sons to thee,And am with child again?"—She's ta'en her young son in her arms,Another in her hand;And she's up to the highest tower,25To see him come to land."Come up, come up, my eldest son,And look o'er yon sea-strand,And see your father's new-come bride,Before she come to land."—30"Come down, come down, my mother dear,Come frae the castle wa'!I fear, if langer ye stand there,Ye'll let yoursell down fa'."—And she gaed down, and farther down,35Her love's ship for to see;And the topmast and the mainmastShone like the silver free.And she's gane down, and farther down,The bride's ship to behold;40And the topmast and the mainmastThey shone just like the gold.She's ta'en her seven sons in her hand;I wot she didna fail!She met Lord Thomas and his bride,45As they came o'er the dale."You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas;You're welcome to your land;You're welcome, with your fair ladye,That you lead by the hand.50"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye,Your welcome to your bowers;You're welcome to your hame, ladye,For a' that's here is yours."—"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie;55Sae dearly as I thank thee;You're the likest to my sister Annie,That ever I did see."There came a knight out o'er the sea,And steal'd my sister away;60The shame scoup in his company,And land where'er he gae!"—She hang ae napkin at the door,Another in the ha';And a' to wipe the trickling tears,65Sae fast as they did fa'.And aye she served the lang tablesWith white bread and with wine;And aye she drank the wan water,To had her colour fine.70And aye she served the lang tables,With white bread and with brown;And ay she turn'd her round about,Sae fast the tears fell down.And he's ta'en down the silk napkin,75Hung on a silver pin;And aye he wipes the tear tricklingAdown her cheek and chin.And aye he turn'd him round about,And smiled amang his men,80Says—"Like ye best the old ladye,Or her that's new come hame?"—When bells were rung, and mass was sung,And a' men bound to bed,Lord Thomas and his new-come bride,85To their chamber they were gaed.Annie made her bed a little forbye,To hear what they might say;"And ever alas!" fair Annie cried,"That I should see this day!90"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,Running on the castle wa',And I were a grey cat mysell,I soon would worry them a'."Gin my seven sons were seven young hares,95Running o'er yon lilly lee,And I were a grew hound mysell,Soon worried they a' should be."—And wae and sad fair Annie sat,And drearie was her sang;100And ever, as she sobb'd and grat,"Wae to the man that did the wrang!"—"My gown is on," said the new-come bride,"My shoes are on my feet,And I will to fair Annie's chamber,105And see what gars her greet.—"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,That ye make sic a moan?Has your wine barrels cast the girds,Or is your white bread gone?110"O wha was't was your father, Annie,Or wha was't was your mother?And had you ony sister, Annie,Or had you ony brother?"—"The Earl of Wemyss was my father,115The Countess of Wemyss my mother;And a' the folk about the house,To me were sister and brother."—"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,I wot sae was he mine;120And it shall not be for lack o' gowd,That ye your love sall tyne."For I have seven ships o' mine ain,A' loaded to the brim;And I will gie them a' to thee,125Wi' four to thine eldest son.But thanks to a' the powers in heavenThat I gae maiden hame!"
"It's narrow, narrow, make your bed,And learn to lie your lane;For I'm gaun o'er the sea, Fair Annie,A braw bride to bring hame.Wi' her I will get gowd and gear;Wi' you I ne'er got nane.
"But wha will bake my bridal bread,Or brew my bridal ale?And wha will welcome my brisk bride,That I bring o'er the dale?"—10
"It's I will bake your bridal bread,And brew your bridal ale;And I will welcome your brisk bride,That you bring o'er the dale."—
"But she that welcomes my brisk bride15Maun gang like maiden fair;She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,And braid her yellow hair."—
"But how can I gang maiden-like,When maiden I am nane?20Have I not born seven sons to thee,And am with child again?"—
She's ta'en her young son in her arms,Another in her hand;And she's up to the highest tower,25To see him come to land.
"Come up, come up, my eldest son,And look o'er yon sea-strand,And see your father's new-come bride,Before she come to land."—30
"Come down, come down, my mother dear,Come frae the castle wa'!I fear, if langer ye stand there,Ye'll let yoursell down fa'."—
And she gaed down, and farther down,35Her love's ship for to see;And the topmast and the mainmastShone like the silver free.
And she's gane down, and farther down,The bride's ship to behold;40And the topmast and the mainmastThey shone just like the gold.
She's ta'en her seven sons in her hand;I wot she didna fail!She met Lord Thomas and his bride,45As they came o'er the dale.
"You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas;You're welcome to your land;You're welcome, with your fair ladye,That you lead by the hand.50
"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye,Your welcome to your bowers;You're welcome to your hame, ladye,For a' that's here is yours."—
"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie;55Sae dearly as I thank thee;You're the likest to my sister Annie,That ever I did see.
"There came a knight out o'er the sea,And steal'd my sister away;60The shame scoup in his company,And land where'er he gae!"—
She hang ae napkin at the door,Another in the ha';And a' to wipe the trickling tears,65Sae fast as they did fa'.
And aye she served the lang tablesWith white bread and with wine;And aye she drank the wan water,To had her colour fine.70
And aye she served the lang tables,With white bread and with brown;And ay she turn'd her round about,Sae fast the tears fell down.
And he's ta'en down the silk napkin,75Hung on a silver pin;And aye he wipes the tear tricklingAdown her cheek and chin.
And aye he turn'd him round about,And smiled amang his men,80Says—"Like ye best the old ladye,Or her that's new come hame?"—
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,And a' men bound to bed,Lord Thomas and his new-come bride,85To their chamber they were gaed.
Annie made her bed a little forbye,To hear what they might say;"And ever alas!" fair Annie cried,"That I should see this day!90
"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,Running on the castle wa',And I were a grey cat mysell,I soon would worry them a'.
"Gin my seven sons were seven young hares,95Running o'er yon lilly lee,And I were a grew hound mysell,Soon worried they a' should be."—
And wae and sad fair Annie sat,And drearie was her sang;100And ever, as she sobb'd and grat,"Wae to the man that did the wrang!"—
"My gown is on," said the new-come bride,"My shoes are on my feet,And I will to fair Annie's chamber,105And see what gars her greet.—
"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,That ye make sic a moan?Has your wine barrels cast the girds,Or is your white bread gone?110
"O wha was't was your father, Annie,Or wha was't was your mother?And had you ony sister, Annie,Or had you ony brother?"—
"The Earl of Wemyss was my father,115The Countess of Wemyss my mother;And a' the folk about the house,To me were sister and brother."—
"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,I wot sae was he mine;120And it shall not be for lack o' gowd,That ye your love sall tyne.
"For I have seven ships o' mine ain,A' loaded to the brim;And I will gie them a' to thee,125Wi' four to thine eldest son.But thanks to a' the powers in heavenThat I gae maiden hame!"
Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. 327. Obtained from recitation.
"Learn to mak your bed, Annie,And learn to lie your lane;For I maun owre the salt seas gang,A brisk bride to bring hame."Bind up, bind up your yellow hair,5And tye it in your neck;And see you look as maiden-likeAs the day that we first met.""O how can I look maiden-like,When maiden I'll ne'er be;10When seven brave sons I've born to thee,And the eighth is in my bodie?"The eldest of your sons, my lord,Wi' red gold shines his weed;The second of your sons, my lord,15Rides on a milk-white steed."And the third of your sons, my lord,He draws your beer and wine;And the fourth of your sons, my lord,Can serve you when you dine.20"And the fift of your sons, my lord,He can both read and write;And the sixth of your sons, my lord,Can do it most perfyte."And the sevent of your sons, my lord,25Sits on the nurse's knee:And how can I look maiden-like,When a maid I'll never be?"But wha will bake your wedding bread,And brew your bridal ale?30Or wha will welcome your brisk brideThat you bring owre the dale?""I'll put cooks in my kitchen,And stewards in my hall,And I'll have bakers for my bread,35And brewers for my ale;But you're to welcome my brisk brideThat I bring owre the dale."He set his feet into his ship,And his cock-boat on the main;40He swore it would be year and dayOr he returned again.When year and day was past and gane,Fair Annie she thocht lang;And she is up to her bower head,45To behold both sea and land."Come up, come up, my eldest son,And see now what you see;O yonder comes your father dear,And your stepmother to be."50"Cast off your gown of black, mother,Put on your gown of brown,And I'll put off my mourning weeds,And we'll welcome him home."She's taken wine into her hand,55And she has taken bread,And she is down to the water sideTo welcome them indeed."You're welcome, my lord, you're welcome, my lord,You're welcome home to me;60So is every lord and gentlemanThat is in your companie."You're welcome, my lady, you're welcome, my lady,You're welcome home to me;So is every lady and gentleman65That's in your companie.""I thank you, my girl, I thank you, my girl,I thank you heartily;If I live seven years about this house,Rewarded you shall be."70She serv'd them up, she serv'd them down,With the wheat bread and the wine;But aye she drank the cauld water,To keep her colour fine.She serv'd them up, she serv'd them down,With the wheat bread and the beer;75But aye she drank the cauld water,To keep her colour clear.When bells were rung and mass was sung,And all were boune for rest,80Fair Annie laid her sons in bed,And a sorrowfu' woman she was."Will I go to the salt, salt seas,And see the fishes swim?Or will I go to the gay green wood,85And hear the small birds sing?"Out and spoke an aged man,That stood behind the door,—"Ye will not go to the salt, salt seas,To see the fishes swim;90Nor will ye go to the gay green wood,To hear the small birds sing:"But ye'll take a harp into your hand,Go to their chamber door,And aye ye'll harp and aye ye'll murn,95With the salt tears falling o'er."She's ta'en a harp into her hand,Went to their chamber door,And aye she harped and aye she murn'd,With the salt tears falling o'er.100Out and spak the brisk young bride,In bride-bed where she lay,—"I think I hear my sister Annie,And I wish weel it may;For a Scotish lord staw her awa,105And an ill death may he die.""Wha was your father, my girl," she says,"Or wha was your mother?Or had you ever a sister dear,Or had you ever a brother?"110"King Henry was my father dear,Queen Esther was my mother,Prince Henry was my brother dear,And Fanny Flower my sister.""If King Henry was your father dear,115And Queen Esther was your mother,If Prince Henry was your brother dear,Then surely I'm your sister."Come to your bed, my sister dear,It ne'er was wrang'd for me,120Bot an ae kiss of his merry mouth,As we cam owre the sea.""Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride,Awa, awa frae me;I wudna hear my Annie greet,125For a' the gold I got wi' thee.""There were five ships of gay red goldCam owre the seas with me;It's twa o' them will tak me hame,And three I'll leave wi' thee.130"Seven ships o' white monieCame owre the seas wi' me;Five o' them I'll leave wi' thee,And twa will take me hame;And my mother will make my portion up,135When I return again."
"Learn to mak your bed, Annie,And learn to lie your lane;For I maun owre the salt seas gang,A brisk bride to bring hame.
"Bind up, bind up your yellow hair,5And tye it in your neck;And see you look as maiden-likeAs the day that we first met."
"O how can I look maiden-like,When maiden I'll ne'er be;10When seven brave sons I've born to thee,And the eighth is in my bodie?
"The eldest of your sons, my lord,Wi' red gold shines his weed;The second of your sons, my lord,15Rides on a milk-white steed.
"And the third of your sons, my lord,He draws your beer and wine;And the fourth of your sons, my lord,Can serve you when you dine.20
"And the fift of your sons, my lord,He can both read and write;And the sixth of your sons, my lord,Can do it most perfyte.
"And the sevent of your sons, my lord,25Sits on the nurse's knee:And how can I look maiden-like,When a maid I'll never be?
"But wha will bake your wedding bread,And brew your bridal ale?30Or wha will welcome your brisk brideThat you bring owre the dale?"
"I'll put cooks in my kitchen,And stewards in my hall,And I'll have bakers for my bread,35And brewers for my ale;But you're to welcome my brisk brideThat I bring owre the dale."
He set his feet into his ship,And his cock-boat on the main;40He swore it would be year and dayOr he returned again.
When year and day was past and gane,Fair Annie she thocht lang;And she is up to her bower head,45To behold both sea and land.
"Come up, come up, my eldest son,And see now what you see;O yonder comes your father dear,And your stepmother to be."50
"Cast off your gown of black, mother,Put on your gown of brown,And I'll put off my mourning weeds,And we'll welcome him home."
She's taken wine into her hand,55And she has taken bread,And she is down to the water sideTo welcome them indeed.
"You're welcome, my lord, you're welcome, my lord,You're welcome home to me;60So is every lord and gentlemanThat is in your companie.
"You're welcome, my lady, you're welcome, my lady,You're welcome home to me;So is every lady and gentleman65That's in your companie."
"I thank you, my girl, I thank you, my girl,I thank you heartily;If I live seven years about this house,Rewarded you shall be."70
She serv'd them up, she serv'd them down,With the wheat bread and the wine;But aye she drank the cauld water,To keep her colour fine.
She serv'd them up, she serv'd them down,With the wheat bread and the beer;75But aye she drank the cauld water,To keep her colour clear.
When bells were rung and mass was sung,And all were boune for rest,80Fair Annie laid her sons in bed,And a sorrowfu' woman she was.
"Will I go to the salt, salt seas,And see the fishes swim?Or will I go to the gay green wood,85And hear the small birds sing?"
Out and spoke an aged man,That stood behind the door,—"Ye will not go to the salt, salt seas,To see the fishes swim;90Nor will ye go to the gay green wood,To hear the small birds sing:
"But ye'll take a harp into your hand,Go to their chamber door,And aye ye'll harp and aye ye'll murn,95With the salt tears falling o'er."
She's ta'en a harp into her hand,Went to their chamber door,And aye she harped and aye she murn'd,With the salt tears falling o'er.100
Out and spak the brisk young bride,In bride-bed where she lay,—"I think I hear my sister Annie,And I wish weel it may;For a Scotish lord staw her awa,105And an ill death may he die."
"Wha was your father, my girl," she says,"Or wha was your mother?Or had you ever a sister dear,Or had you ever a brother?"110
"King Henry was my father dear,Queen Esther was my mother,Prince Henry was my brother dear,And Fanny Flower my sister."
"If King Henry was your father dear,115And Queen Esther was your mother,If Prince Henry was your brother dear,Then surely I'm your sister.
"Come to your bed, my sister dear,It ne'er was wrang'd for me,120Bot an ae kiss of his merry mouth,As we cam owre the sea."
"Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride,Awa, awa frae me;I wudna hear my Annie greet,125For a' the gold I got wi' thee."
"There were five ships of gay red goldCam owre the seas with me;It's twa o' them will tak me hame,And three I'll leave wi' thee.130
"Seven ships o' white monieCame owre the seas wi' me;Five o' them I'll leave wi' thee,And twa will take me hame;And my mother will make my portion up,135When I return again."
First published by Percy from his folio MS.,Reliques, iii. 94. Several traditionary versions have since been printed, of which we giveBurd Ellenfrom Jamieson's, and in the Appendix,Lady Margaretfrom Kinloch's collection. Jamieson also furnishes a fragment, and Buchan, (Ballads of the North of Scotland, ii. 30,) a complete copy of another version ofBurd Ellen, and Chambers (Scottish Ballads, 193,) makes up an edition from all the copies, which we mention here because he has taken some lines from a manuscript supplied by Mr. Kinloch.