43.Tores.The projections or knobs at the corners of old-fashioned cradles, and the ornamented balls commonly found surmounting the backs of old chairs.Motherwell.
43.Tores.The projections or knobs at the corners of old-fashioned cradles, and the ornamented balls commonly found surmounting the backs of old chairs.Motherwell.
Jamieson andKinlochhave each published a highly dramatic fragment of this terrible story. Both of these are here given, and in the Appendix may be seenBuchan'smore extensive, but far less poetical version. With this last, we have printed Mr. Chambers's account of the events on which these ballads are founded.
Jamieson's copy was taken down by Sir Walter Scott, from the recitation of his mother.Popular Ballads, i. 109.
Down by yon garden greenSae merrily as she gaes;She has twa weel-made feet,And she trips upon her taes.She has twa weel-made feet;5Far better is her hand;She's as jimp in the middleAs ony willow-wand."Gif ye will do my bidding,At my bidding for to be,10It's I will make you ladyOf a' the lands you see."* * * * * * *He spak a word in jest;Her answer wasna good;He threw a plate at her face,15Made it a' gush out o' blood.She wasna frae her chamberA step but barely three,When up and at her richt handThere stood Man's Enemy.20"Gif ye will do my bidding,At my bidding for to be;I'll learn you a wileAvenged for to be."The Foul Thief knotted the tether;25She lifted his head on hie;The nourice drew the knotThat gar'd lord Waristoun die.Then word is gane to Leith,Also to Edinburgh town,30That the lady had kill'd the laird,The laird o' Waristoun.* * * * * * *"Tak aff, tak aff my hood,But lat my petticoat be;Put my mantle o'er my head;35For the fire I downa see."Now, a' ye gentle maids,Tak warning now by me,And never marry aneBut wha pleases your e'e.40"For he married me for love,But I married him for fee;And sae brak out the feudThat gar'd my dearie die."
Down by yon garden greenSae merrily as she gaes;She has twa weel-made feet,And she trips upon her taes.
She has twa weel-made feet;5Far better is her hand;She's as jimp in the middleAs ony willow-wand.
"Gif ye will do my bidding,At my bidding for to be,10It's I will make you ladyOf a' the lands you see."
* * * * * * *
He spak a word in jest;Her answer wasna good;He threw a plate at her face,15Made it a' gush out o' blood.
She wasna frae her chamberA step but barely three,When up and at her richt handThere stood Man's Enemy.20
"Gif ye will do my bidding,At my bidding for to be;I'll learn you a wileAvenged for to be."
The Foul Thief knotted the tether;25She lifted his head on hie;The nourice drew the knotThat gar'd lord Waristoun die.
Then word is gane to Leith,Also to Edinburgh town,30That the lady had kill'd the laird,The laird o' Waristoun.
* * * * * * *
"Tak aff, tak aff my hood,But lat my petticoat be;Put my mantle o'er my head;35For the fire I downa see.
"Now, a' ye gentle maids,Tak warning now by me,And never marry aneBut wha pleases your e'e.40
"For he married me for love,But I married him for fee;And sae brak out the feudThat gar'd my dearie die."
Kinloch'sAncient Scottish Ballads, p. 53.
It was at dinner as they sat,And when they drank the wine,How happy were the laird and ladyOf bonnie Wariestoun.The lady spak but ae word,5The matter to conclude;The laird strak her on the mouth,Till she spat out o' blude.She did not know the wayHer mind to satisfy,10Till evil cam into her headAll by the Enemy.* * * * * * *"At evening when ye sitAnd when ye drink the wine,See that ye fill the glass well up15To the laird o' Wariestoun."* * * * * * *So at table as they sat,And when they drank the wine,She made the glass aft gae roundTo the laird o' Wariestoun.20The nurice she knet the knot,And O she knet it sicker;The ladie did gie it a twig,Till it began to wicker.But word has gane doun to Leith,25And up to Embro toun,That the lady she has slain the laird,The laird o' Wariestoun.Word's gane to her father, the great Duniepace,And an angry man was he;30Cries, "Fy! gar mak a barrel o' pikes,And row her doun some brae."She said, "Wae be to ye, Wariestoun,I wish ye may sink for ain;For I hae been your gudwife35These nine years, running ten;And I never loved ye sae weillAs now when you're lying slain."* * * * * * *"But tak aff this gowd brocade,And let my petticoat be,40And tie a handkerchief round my face,That the people may not see."
It was at dinner as they sat,And when they drank the wine,How happy were the laird and ladyOf bonnie Wariestoun.
The lady spak but ae word,5The matter to conclude;The laird strak her on the mouth,Till she spat out o' blude.
She did not know the wayHer mind to satisfy,10Till evil cam into her headAll by the Enemy.
* * * * * * *
"At evening when ye sitAnd when ye drink the wine,See that ye fill the glass well up15To the laird o' Wariestoun."
* * * * * * *
So at table as they sat,And when they drank the wine,She made the glass aft gae roundTo the laird o' Wariestoun.20
The nurice she knet the knot,And O she knet it sicker;The ladie did gie it a twig,Till it began to wicker.
But word has gane doun to Leith,25And up to Embro toun,That the lady she has slain the laird,The laird o' Wariestoun.
Word's gane to her father, the great Duniepace,And an angry man was he;30Cries, "Fy! gar mak a barrel o' pikes,And row her doun some brae."
She said, "Wae be to ye, Wariestoun,I wish ye may sink for ain;For I hae been your gudwife35These nine years, running ten;And I never loved ye sae weillAs now when you're lying slain."
* * * * * * *
"But tak aff this gowd brocade,And let my petticoat be,40And tie a handkerchief round my face,That the people may not see."
Of this affecting ballad different editions have appeared in Scott'sMinstrelsy, Sharpe'sBallad Book, p. 18, Kinloch'sScottish Ballads, and Motherwell'sMinstrelsy. There is also a fragment in Maidment'sNorth Countrie Garland, which has been reprinted in Buchan'sGleanings, p. 164, and a very inferior version, with a different catastrophe, in Buchan's larger collection, (ii. 190,) calledWarenston and the Duke of York's Daughter.Kinloch's copymay be found withMaidment's fragment, in the Appendix to this volume:Motherwell'simmediately after the present.
Sir Walter Scott conceives the ballad to have had its foundation in an event which took place early in the reign of Mary Stuart, described by Knox as follows: "In the very time of the General Assembly, there comes to public knowledge a haynous murther, committed in the court; yea, not far from the Queen's lap; for a French woman, that served in the Queen's chamber, had played the whore with the Queen's own apothecary. The woman conceived and bare a childe, whom, with common consent, the father and mother murthered; yet were the cries of a new-borne childe hearde, searche was made, the childe and the mother were both apprehended, and so were the man and the woman condemned to be hanged in the publicke street of Edinburgh. The punishment was suitable, because the crime was haynous. But yet was not the court purged of whores and whoredoms, which was the fountaine of such enormities: for it was well known that shame hasted marriage betwixt John Sempill, called the Dancer, and Mary Levingston, sirnamed the Lusty. What bruit the Maries, and the rest of the dancers of the court had,the ballads of that agedoe witnesse, which we for modestie's sake omit.Knox'sHistory of the Reformation, p. 373.
"Such," Sir Walter goes on to say, "seems to be the subject of the following ballad, as narrated by the stern apostle of Presbytery. It will readily strike the reader, that the tale has suffered great alterations, as handed down by tradition; the French waiting woman being changed into Mary Hamilton, and the Queen's apothecary into Henry Darnley. Yet this is less surprising, when we recollect, that one of the heaviest of the Queen's complaints against her ill-fated husband, was his infidelity, and that even with her personal attendants."
Satisfactorily as the circumstances of Knox's story may agree with those of the ballads, a coincidence no less striking, and extending even to the name, is presented by an incident which occurred at the court of Peter the Great. "During the reign of the Czar Peter," observes Mr. C. K. Sharpe, "one of his Empress's attendants, a Miss Hamilton, was executed for the murder of a natural child,—not her first crime in that way, as was suspected; and the Emperor, whose admiration of her beauty did not preserve her life,stood upon the scaffold till her head was struck off, which he lifted by the ears and kissed on the lips. I cannot help thinking that the two stories have been confused in the ballad; for, if Marie Hamilton was executed in Scotland, it is not likely that her relations resided beyond seas; and we have no proof that Hamilton was really the name of the woman who made the slip with the Queen's apothecary."
Scott's edition ofMary Hamilton, (the first ever published,) was made up by him, from various copies. SeeMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 294.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,Wi' ribbons in her hair;The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,Than ony that were there.Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,5Wi' ribbons on her breast;The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,Than he listen'd to the priest.Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,Wi' gloves upon her hands;10The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,Than the Queen and a' her lands.She hadna been about the King's courtA month, but barely one,Till she was beloved by a' the King's court,15And the King the only man.She hadna been about the King's courtA month, but barely three,Till frae the King's court Marie Hamilton,Marie Hamilton durstna be.20The King is to the Abbey gane,To pu' the Abbey tree,To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;But the thing it wadna be.O she has row'd it in her apron,25And set it on the sea,—"Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,Ye's get nae mair o' me."—Word is to the kitchen gane,And word is to the ha',30And word is to the noble room,Amang the ladyes a',That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed,And the bonny babe's mist and awa'.Scarcely had she lain down again,35And scarcely fa'en asleep,When up then started our gude Queen,Just at her bed-feet;Saying—"Marie Hamilton, where's your babe?For I am sure I heard it greet."—40"O no, O no, my noble Queen!Think no such thing to be;'Twas but a stitch into my side,And sair it troubles me."—"Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton:45Get up and follow me;For I am going to Edinburgh town,A rich wedding for to see."—O slowly, slowly raise she up,And slowly put she on;50And slowly rode she out the way,Wi' mony a weary groan.The Queen was clad in scarlet,Her merry maids all in green;And every town that they cam to,55They took Marie for the Queen."Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,Ride hooly now wi' me!For never, I am sure, a wearier burdRade in your cumpanie."—60But little wist Marie Hamilton,When she rade on the brown,That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town,And a' to be put down."Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives,65Why look ye so on me?O I am going to Edinburgh town,A rich wedding for to see."—When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs,The corks frae her heels did flee;70And lang or e'er she cam down again,She was condemn'd to die.When she cam tothe Netherbow port,She laughed loud laughters three;But when she cam to the gallows foot,75The tears blinded her ee."Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,The night she'll hae but three;There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton,And Marie Carmichael, and me.80"O often have I dress'd my Queen,And put gold upon her hair;But now I've gotten for my rewardThe gallows to be my share."Often have I dress'd my Queen,85And often made her bed;But now I've gotten for my rewardThe gallows tree to tread."I charge ye all, ye mariners,When ye sail ower the faem,90Let neither my father nor mother get wit,But that I'm coming hame."I charge ye all, ye mariners,That sail upon the sea,Let neither my father nor mother get wit95This dog's death I'm to die."For if my father and mother got wit,And my bold brethren three,O mickle wad be the gude red bludeThis day wad be spilt for me!100"O little did my mother ken,That day she cradled me,The lands I was to travel in,Or the death I was to die!"
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,Wi' ribbons in her hair;The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,Than ony that were there.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,5Wi' ribbons on her breast;The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,Than he listen'd to the priest.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,Wi' gloves upon her hands;10The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,Than the Queen and a' her lands.
She hadna been about the King's courtA month, but barely one,Till she was beloved by a' the King's court,15And the King the only man.
She hadna been about the King's courtA month, but barely three,Till frae the King's court Marie Hamilton,Marie Hamilton durstna be.20
The King is to the Abbey gane,To pu' the Abbey tree,To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;But the thing it wadna be.
O she has row'd it in her apron,25And set it on the sea,—"Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,Ye's get nae mair o' me."—
Word is to the kitchen gane,And word is to the ha',30And word is to the noble room,Amang the ladyes a',That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed,And the bonny babe's mist and awa'.
Scarcely had she lain down again,35And scarcely fa'en asleep,When up then started our gude Queen,Just at her bed-feet;Saying—"Marie Hamilton, where's your babe?For I am sure I heard it greet."—40
"O no, O no, my noble Queen!Think no such thing to be;'Twas but a stitch into my side,And sair it troubles me."—
"Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton:45Get up and follow me;For I am going to Edinburgh town,A rich wedding for to see."—
O slowly, slowly raise she up,And slowly put she on;50And slowly rode she out the way,Wi' mony a weary groan.
The Queen was clad in scarlet,Her merry maids all in green;And every town that they cam to,55They took Marie for the Queen.
"Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,Ride hooly now wi' me!For never, I am sure, a wearier burdRade in your cumpanie."—60
But little wist Marie Hamilton,When she rade on the brown,That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town,And a' to be put down.
"Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives,65Why look ye so on me?O I am going to Edinburgh town,A rich wedding for to see."—
When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs,The corks frae her heels did flee;70And lang or e'er she cam down again,She was condemn'd to die.
When she cam tothe Netherbow port,She laughed loud laughters three;But when she cam to the gallows foot,75The tears blinded her ee.
"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,The night she'll hae but three;There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton,And Marie Carmichael, and me.80
"O often have I dress'd my Queen,And put gold upon her hair;But now I've gotten for my rewardThe gallows to be my share.
"Often have I dress'd my Queen,85And often made her bed;But now I've gotten for my rewardThe gallows tree to tread.
"I charge ye all, ye mariners,When ye sail ower the faem,90Let neither my father nor mother get wit,But that I'm coming hame.
"I charge ye all, ye mariners,That sail upon the sea,Let neither my father nor mother get wit95This dog's death I'm to die.
"For if my father and mother got wit,And my bold brethren three,O mickle wad be the gude red bludeThis day wad be spilt for me!100
"O little did my mother ken,That day she cradled me,The lands I was to travel in,Or the death I was to die!"
73. The Netherbow port was the gate which divided the city of Edinburgh from the suburb, called the Canongate. S.80. The Queen's Maries were four young ladies of the highest families in Scotland, who were sent to France in her train, and returned with her to Scotland. Keith gives us their names, p. 55. "The young Queen, Mary, embarked at Dunbarton for France, ... and with her went ... and four young virgins, all of the name of Mary, viz. Livingston, Fleming, Seatoun, and Beatoun." Neither Mary Livingston, nor Mary Fleming, are mentioned in the ballad; nor are the Mary Hamilton, and Mary Carmichael, of the ballad, mentioned by Keith. But if this corps continued to consist of young virgins, as when originally raised, it could hardly have subsisted without occasional recruits; especially if we trust our old bard, and John Knox.The Queen's Maries are mentioned in many ballads, and the name seems to have passed into a general denomination for female attendants.—Scott.
73. The Netherbow port was the gate which divided the city of Edinburgh from the suburb, called the Canongate. S.
80. The Queen's Maries were four young ladies of the highest families in Scotland, who were sent to France in her train, and returned with her to Scotland. Keith gives us their names, p. 55. "The young Queen, Mary, embarked at Dunbarton for France, ... and with her went ... and four young virgins, all of the name of Mary, viz. Livingston, Fleming, Seatoun, and Beatoun." Neither Mary Livingston, nor Mary Fleming, are mentioned in the ballad; nor are the Mary Hamilton, and Mary Carmichael, of the ballad, mentioned by Keith. But if this corps continued to consist of young virgins, as when originally raised, it could hardly have subsisted without occasional recruits; especially if we trust our old bard, and John Knox.
The Queen's Maries are mentioned in many ballads, and the name seems to have passed into a general denomination for female attendants.—Scott.
From Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. 311.
"In this set of the ballad, from its direct allusion to the use of the Savin-tree, a clue is, perhaps, afforded for tracing how the poor mediciner mentioned by Knox should be implicated in the crime of Mary Hamilton. It may also be noted as a feature in this version of the ballad, which does not occur in any heretofore printed, the unfortunate heroine's proud and indignant spurning at life after her character had been tainted by the infamy of a sentence of condemnation. In another copy of the ballad, also obtained from recitation, this sentiment is, perhaps, still more forcibly expressed; at any rate, it is more appropriate as being addressed to the King. The whole concluding verses of this copy, differing as they somewhat do from the version adopted for a text, it has been thought worth while to preserve.
"But bring to me a cup," she says,"A cup bot and a can,And I will drink to all my friends,And they'll drink to me again.Here's to you, all travellers,Who travel by land or sea;Let na wit to my father nor motherThe death that I must die.Here's to you, all travellers,That travel on dry land;Let na wit to my father or motherBut I am coming hame.O little did my mother think,First time she cradled me,What land I was to travel on,Or what death I would die.O little did my mother think,First time she tied my head,What land I was to tread upon,Or whare I would win my bread.Yestreen Queen Mary had four Maries;This night she'll hae but three;She had Mary Seaton, and Mary Beaton,And Mary Carmichael, and me.Yestreen I wush Queen Mary's feet,And bore her till her bed;This day she's given me my reward,The gallows tree to tread.Cast aff, cast aff my gown," she said,"But let my petticoat be;And tye a napkin on my face,For that gallows I downa see."By and cam the King himsell,Look'd up wi' a pitiful ee:"Come down, come down, Mary Hamilton;This day thou wilt dine with me.""Hold your tongue, my sovereign liege,And let your folly be;An ye had had a mind to save my life,Ye should na hae shamed me here!"
"But bring to me a cup," she says,"A cup bot and a can,And I will drink to all my friends,And they'll drink to me again.Here's to you, all travellers,Who travel by land or sea;Let na wit to my father nor motherThe death that I must die.Here's to you, all travellers,That travel on dry land;Let na wit to my father or motherBut I am coming hame.O little did my mother think,First time she cradled me,What land I was to travel on,Or what death I would die.O little did my mother think,First time she tied my head,What land I was to tread upon,Or whare I would win my bread.Yestreen Queen Mary had four Maries;This night she'll hae but three;She had Mary Seaton, and Mary Beaton,And Mary Carmichael, and me.Yestreen I wush Queen Mary's feet,And bore her till her bed;This day she's given me my reward,The gallows tree to tread.Cast aff, cast aff my gown," she said,"But let my petticoat be;And tye a napkin on my face,For that gallows I downa see."By and cam the King himsell,Look'd up wi' a pitiful ee:"Come down, come down, Mary Hamilton;This day thou wilt dine with me.""Hold your tongue, my sovereign liege,And let your folly be;An ye had had a mind to save my life,Ye should na hae shamed me here!"
"The copy of the ballad from which the above extract is given, begins with this verse:
"There were three ladies, they lived in a bower,And O but they were fair;The youngest o' them is to the King's court,To learn some unco lair."
"There were three ladies, they lived in a bower,And O but they were fair;The youngest o' them is to the King's court,To learn some unco lair."
"There is another version in which the heroine is named Mary Myles, or Myle; but Myle is probably a corruption of the epithet 'mild,' which occurs in the fragment given in theNorth Countrie Garland."Motherwell.
There lived a knight into the North,And he had daughters three:The ane of them was a barber's wife,The other a gay ladie;And the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane5The Queen's Mary to be;And for a' that they could say or do,Forbidden she wouldna be.The prince's bed it was sae saft,The spices they were sae fine,10That out of it she could not lyeWhile she was scarce fifteen.She's gane to the garden gayTo pu' of the savin tree;But for a' that she could say or do,15The babie it would not die.She's rowed it in her handkerchief,She threw it in the sea:Says,—"Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe,For ye'll get nae mair of me."20Queen Mary came tripping down the stair,Wi' the gold strings in her hair:"O whare's the little babie," she says,"That I heard greet sae sair?""O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,25Let all those words go free;It was mysell wi' a fit o' the sair colic,I was sick just like to die.""O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,Let all those words go free;30O where is the little babieThat I heard weep by thee?""I rowed it in my handkerchief,And threw it in the sea;I bade it sink, I bade it swim,35It would get nae mair o' me.""O wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton,And an ill deid may you die;For if you had saved the babie's life,It might hae been an honour to thee.40"Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton,O busk ye to be a bride;For I am going to Edinburgh townYour gay wedding to bide."You must not put on your robes of black,45Nor yet your robes of brown;But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs,To shine thro' Edinburgh town.""I will not put on my robes of black,Nor yet my robes of brown;50But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs,To shine thro' Edinburgh town."As she went up the Parliament Close,A riding on her horse,There she saw many a burgess' lady55Sit greeting at the cross."O what means a' this greeting?I'm sure it's nae for me;For I'm come this day to Edinburgh town,Weel wedded for to be."60When she gade up the Parliament stair,She gied loud lauchters three;But ere that she had come down again,She was condemned to die."O little did my mother think,65The day she prinned my gown,That I was to come sae far frae hameTo be hanged in Edinburgh town."O what'll my poor father think,As he comes through the town,70To see the face of his Molly fairHanging on the gallows pin?"Here's a health to the marinersThat plough the raging main;Let neither my mother nor father ken75But I'm coming hame again."Here's a health to the sailorsThat sail upon the sea;Let neither my mother nor father kenThat I came here to die.80"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,This night she'll hae but three;There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,And Mary Carmichael and me.""O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,85Let all those words go free;This night ere ye be hangedYe shall gang hame wi' me.""O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,Let all those words go free;90Since I have come to Edinburgh town,It's hanged I shall be;For it shall ne'er be said that in your courtI was condemned to die."
There lived a knight into the North,And he had daughters three:The ane of them was a barber's wife,The other a gay ladie;
And the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane5The Queen's Mary to be;And for a' that they could say or do,Forbidden she wouldna be.
The prince's bed it was sae saft,The spices they were sae fine,10That out of it she could not lyeWhile she was scarce fifteen.
She's gane to the garden gayTo pu' of the savin tree;But for a' that she could say or do,15The babie it would not die.
She's rowed it in her handkerchief,She threw it in the sea:Says,—"Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe,For ye'll get nae mair of me."20
Queen Mary came tripping down the stair,Wi' the gold strings in her hair:"O whare's the little babie," she says,"That I heard greet sae sair?"
"O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,25Let all those words go free;It was mysell wi' a fit o' the sair colic,I was sick just like to die."
"O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,Let all those words go free;30O where is the little babieThat I heard weep by thee?"
"I rowed it in my handkerchief,And threw it in the sea;I bade it sink, I bade it swim,35It would get nae mair o' me."
"O wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton,And an ill deid may you die;For if you had saved the babie's life,It might hae been an honour to thee.40
"Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton,O busk ye to be a bride;For I am going to Edinburgh townYour gay wedding to bide.
"You must not put on your robes of black,45Nor yet your robes of brown;But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs,To shine thro' Edinburgh town."
"I will not put on my robes of black,Nor yet my robes of brown;50But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs,To shine thro' Edinburgh town."
As she went up the Parliament Close,A riding on her horse,There she saw many a burgess' lady55Sit greeting at the cross.
"O what means a' this greeting?I'm sure it's nae for me;For I'm come this day to Edinburgh town,Weel wedded for to be."60
When she gade up the Parliament stair,She gied loud lauchters three;But ere that she had come down again,She was condemned to die.
"O little did my mother think,65The day she prinned my gown,That I was to come sae far frae hameTo be hanged in Edinburgh town.
"O what'll my poor father think,As he comes through the town,70To see the face of his Molly fairHanging on the gallows pin?
"Here's a health to the marinersThat plough the raging main;Let neither my mother nor father ken75But I'm coming hame again.
"Here's a health to the sailorsThat sail upon the sea;Let neither my mother nor father kenThat I came here to die.80
"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,This night she'll hae but three;There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,And Mary Carmichael and me."
"O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,85Let all those words go free;This night ere ye be hangedYe shall gang hame wi' me."
"O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,Let all those words go free;90Since I have come to Edinburgh town,It's hanged I shall be;For it shall ne'er be said that in your courtI was condemned to die."
From Lyle'sAncient Ballads and Songs, p. 160, where it was printed as collated "from the singing of two aged persons, one of them a native of Perthshire." There are two versions slightly differing from the present;—one in Cunningham'sSongs of Scotland, iii. 60, obtained from Sir Walter Scott, and another in Mr. Kirkpatrick Sharpe'sBallad Book, p. 62.
Allan Ramsay wrote a song with the same title, beginning with the first stanza of the ballad, (Tea Table Miscellany, i. 70.)
The story of the unfortunate heroines is thus given by Chambers: "Bessie Bell and Mary Gray were the daughters of two country gentlemen in the neighborhood of Perth; and an intimate friendship subsisted between them. Bessie Bell, daughter of the Laird of Kinnaird, happening to be on a visit to Mary Gray, at her father's house of Lynedoch, when the plague of 1666 broke out, to avoid the infection, the two young ladies built themselves a bower in a very retired and romantic spot, called the Burn-braes, about three quarters of a mile westward from Lynedoch House; where they resided for some time, supplied with food, it issaid, by a young gentleman of Perth, who was in love with them both. The disease was unfortunately communicated to them by their lover, and proved fatal; when, according to custom in cases of the plague, they were not buried in the ordinary parochial place of sepulture, but in a sequestered spot, called the Dronach Haugh, at the foot of a brae of the same name, upon the banks of the River Almond."
O Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,They were twa bonnie lassies;They biggit a house on yon burn-brae,An' theekit it o'er wi' rashes.They theekit it o'er wi' birk and brume,5They theekit it o'er wi' heather,Till the pest cam frae the neib'rin townAn' streekit them baith thegither.They were na' buried in Meffen kirk-yard,Amang the rest o' their kin;10But they were buried by Dornoch haugh,On the bent before the sun.Sing, Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,They were twa bonnie lasses,Wha' biggit a bower on yon burn-brae,15An' theekit it o'er wi' thrashes.
O Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,They were twa bonnie lassies;They biggit a house on yon burn-brae,An' theekit it o'er wi' rashes.
They theekit it o'er wi' birk and brume,5They theekit it o'er wi' heather,Till the pest cam frae the neib'rin townAn' streekit them baith thegither.
They were na' buried in Meffen kirk-yard,Amang the rest o' their kin;10But they were buried by Dornoch haugh,On the bent before the sun.
Sing, Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,They were twa bonnie lasses,Wha' biggit a bower on yon burn-brae,15An' theekit it o'er wi' thrashes.
The Children in the Woodis perhaps the most popular of all English ballads. Its merit is attested by the favor it has enjoyed with so many generations, and was vindicated to a cold and artificial age by the kindly pen of Addison. The editor of theReliquesthought that the subject was taken from an old play, published in 1601, "of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle," but Ritson discovered that the ballad was entered in the Stationers' Registers in 1595. The plot of the play was undoubtedly derived from the Italian, and the author of the ballad may have taken a hint from the same source.
Percy's edition, (Reliques, iii. 218,) which we have adopted, was printed from two old copies, one of them in black-letter, in the Pepys collection. The full title is,The Children in the Wood, or, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament.To the Tune of Rogero, &c. Copies slightly varying from Percy's may be seen inA Collection of Old Ballads, (1723,) i. 221; Ritson'sAncient Songs, ii. 150;The Book of British Ballads, p. 13; and Moore'sPictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry, p. 263.
Now ponder well, you parents deare,These wordes which I shall write;A doleful story you shall heare,In time brought forth to light.A gentleman of good account5In Norfolke dwelt of late,Who did in honour far surmountMost men of his estate.Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,No helpe his life could save;10His wife by him as sicke did lye,And both possest one grave.No love between these two was lost,Each was to other kinde;In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,15And left two babes behinde:The one a fine and pretty boy,Not passing three yeares olde;The other a girl more young than he,And fram'd in beautyes molde.20The father left his little son,As plainlye doth appeare,When he to perfect age should come,Three hundred poundes a yeare.And to his little daughter Jane25Five hundred poundes in gold,To be paid downe on marriage-day,Which might not be controll'd:But if the children chance to dye,Ere they to age should come,30Their uncle should possesse their wealth;For so the wille did run."Now, brother," said the dying man,"Look to my children deare;Be good unto my boy and girl,35No friendes else have they here:To God and you I recommendMy children deare this daye;But little while be sure we haveWithin this world to staye.40"You must be father and mother both,And uncle all in one;God knowes what will become of them,When I am dead and gone."With that bespake their mother deare,45"O brother kinde," quoth shee,"You are the man must bring our babesTo wealth or miserie:"And if you keep them carefully,Then God will you reward;50But if you otherwise should deal,God will your deedes regard."With lippes as cold as any stone,They kist their children small:"God bless you both, my children deare;"55With that the teares did fall.These speeches then their brother spakeTo this sicke couple there:"The keeping of your little ones,Sweet sister, do not feare.60God never prosper me nor mine,Nor aught else that I have,If I do wrong your children deare,When you are layd in grave."The parents being dead and gone,65The children home he takes,And bringes them straite unto his house,Where much of them he makes.He had not kept these pretty babesA twelvemonth and a daye,70But, for their wealth, he did deviseTo make them both awaye.He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,Which were of furious mood,That they should take these children young,75And slaye them in a wood.He told his wife an artful tale.He would the children sendTo be brought up in faire London,With one that was his friend.80Away then went those pretty babes,Rejoycing at that tide,Rejoycing with a merry minde,They should on cock-horse ride.They prate and prattle pleasantly,85As they rode on the waye,To those that should their butchers be,And work their lives decaye:So that the pretty speeche they had,Made Murder's heart relent:90And they that undertooke the deed,Full sore did now repent.Yet one of them more hard of heart,Did vowe to do his charge,Because the wretch, that hired him,95Had paid him very large.The other won't agree thereto,So here they fall to strife;With one another they did fight,About the childrens life:100And he that was of mildest mood,Did slaye the other there,Within an unfrequented wood;The babes did quake for feare!He took the children by the hand,105Teares standing in their eye,And bad them straitwaye follow him,And look they did not crye:And two long miles he ledd them on,While they for food complaine:110"Staye here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,When I come back againe."These pretty babes, with hand in hand,Went wandering up and downe;But never more could see the man115Approaching from the towne:Their prettye lippes with blackberries,Were all besmear'd and dyed,And when they sawe the darksome night,They sat them downe and cryed.120Thus wandered these poor innocents,Till deathe did end their grief,In one anothers armes they died,As wanting due relief:No burialthis pretty pair125Of any man receives,Till Robin-red-breast piouslyDid cover them with leaves.And now the heavy wrathe of GodUpon their uncle fell;130Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,His conscience felt an hell;His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,His landes were barren made,His cattle dyed within the field,135And nothing with him stayd.And inthe voyage of PortugalTwo of his sonnes did dye;And to conclude, himselfe was broughtTo want and miserye:140He pawn'd and mortgaged all his landEre seven years came about,And now at length this wicked actDid by this meanes come out:The fellowe, that did take in hand145These children for to kill,Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,Such was God's blessed will:Who did confess the very truth,As here hath been display'd:150Their uncle having dyed in gaol,Where he for debt was layd.You that executors be made,And overseers ekeOf children that be fatherless,155And infants mild and meek;Take you example by this thing,And yield to each his right,Lest God with such like miseryeYour wicked minds requite.
Now ponder well, you parents deare,These wordes which I shall write;A doleful story you shall heare,In time brought forth to light.A gentleman of good account5In Norfolke dwelt of late,Who did in honour far surmountMost men of his estate.
Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,No helpe his life could save;10His wife by him as sicke did lye,And both possest one grave.No love between these two was lost,Each was to other kinde;In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,15And left two babes behinde:
The one a fine and pretty boy,Not passing three yeares olde;The other a girl more young than he,And fram'd in beautyes molde.20The father left his little son,As plainlye doth appeare,When he to perfect age should come,Three hundred poundes a yeare.
And to his little daughter Jane25Five hundred poundes in gold,To be paid downe on marriage-day,Which might not be controll'd:But if the children chance to dye,Ere they to age should come,30Their uncle should possesse their wealth;For so the wille did run.
"Now, brother," said the dying man,"Look to my children deare;Be good unto my boy and girl,35No friendes else have they here:To God and you I recommendMy children deare this daye;But little while be sure we haveWithin this world to staye.40
"You must be father and mother both,And uncle all in one;God knowes what will become of them,When I am dead and gone."With that bespake their mother deare,45"O brother kinde," quoth shee,"You are the man must bring our babesTo wealth or miserie:
"And if you keep them carefully,Then God will you reward;50But if you otherwise should deal,God will your deedes regard."With lippes as cold as any stone,They kist their children small:"God bless you both, my children deare;"55With that the teares did fall.
These speeches then their brother spakeTo this sicke couple there:"The keeping of your little ones,Sweet sister, do not feare.60God never prosper me nor mine,Nor aught else that I have,If I do wrong your children deare,When you are layd in grave."
The parents being dead and gone,65The children home he takes,And bringes them straite unto his house,Where much of them he makes.He had not kept these pretty babesA twelvemonth and a daye,70But, for their wealth, he did deviseTo make them both awaye.
He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,Which were of furious mood,That they should take these children young,75And slaye them in a wood.He told his wife an artful tale.He would the children sendTo be brought up in faire London,With one that was his friend.80
Away then went those pretty babes,Rejoycing at that tide,Rejoycing with a merry minde,They should on cock-horse ride.They prate and prattle pleasantly,85As they rode on the waye,To those that should their butchers be,And work their lives decaye:
So that the pretty speeche they had,Made Murder's heart relent:90And they that undertooke the deed,Full sore did now repent.Yet one of them more hard of heart,Did vowe to do his charge,Because the wretch, that hired him,95Had paid him very large.
The other won't agree thereto,So here they fall to strife;With one another they did fight,About the childrens life:100And he that was of mildest mood,Did slaye the other there,Within an unfrequented wood;The babes did quake for feare!
He took the children by the hand,105Teares standing in their eye,And bad them straitwaye follow him,And look they did not crye:And two long miles he ledd them on,While they for food complaine:110"Staye here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,When I come back againe."
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,Went wandering up and downe;But never more could see the man115Approaching from the towne:Their prettye lippes with blackberries,Were all besmear'd and dyed,And when they sawe the darksome night,They sat them downe and cryed.120
Thus wandered these poor innocents,Till deathe did end their grief,In one anothers armes they died,As wanting due relief:No burialthis pretty pair125Of any man receives,Till Robin-red-breast piouslyDid cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrathe of GodUpon their uncle fell;130Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,His conscience felt an hell;His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,His landes were barren made,His cattle dyed within the field,135And nothing with him stayd.
And inthe voyage of PortugalTwo of his sonnes did dye;And to conclude, himselfe was broughtTo want and miserye:140He pawn'd and mortgaged all his landEre seven years came about,And now at length this wicked actDid by this meanes come out:
The fellowe, that did take in hand145These children for to kill,Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,Such was God's blessed will:Who did confess the very truth,As here hath been display'd:150Their uncle having dyed in gaol,Where he for debt was layd.
You that executors be made,And overseers ekeOf children that be fatherless,155And infants mild and meek;Take you example by this thing,And yield to each his right,Lest God with such like miseryeYour wicked minds requite.