Thomas Stuart was a lord,A lord of mickle land;He used to wear a coat of gold,But now his grave is green.Now he has wooed the young countess,5The Countess of Balquhin,An' given her for a morning gift,Strathboggie and Aboyne.But women's wit is aye willful,Alas! that ever it was sae;10She longed to see the morning giftThat her gude lord to her gae.When steeds were saddled an' weel bridled,An' ready for to ride,There came a pain on that gude lord,15His back, likewise his side.He said, "Ride on, my lady fair,May goodness be your guide;For I'm sae sick an' weary thatNo farther can I ride."20Now ben did come his father dear,Wearing a golden band;Says, "Is there nae leech in Edinburgh,Can cure my son from wrang?""O leech is come, an' leech is gane,25Yet, father, I'm aye waur;There's not a leech in Edinbro'Can death from me debar."But be a friend to my wife, father,Restore to her her own;30Restore to her my morning gift,Strathboggie and Aboyne."It had been gude for my wife, father,To me she'd born a son;He would have got my land an' rents,35Where they lie out an' in."It had been gude for my wife, father,To me she'd born an heir;He would have got my land an' rents,Where they lie fine an' fair."40The steeds they strave into their stables,The boys could'nt get them bound;The hounds lay howling on the leech,'Cause their master was behind."I dreamed a dream since late yestreen,45I wish it may be good,That our chamber was full of swine,An' our bed full of blood."I saw a woman come from the West,Full sore wringing her hands,50And aye she cried, 'Ohon alas!My good lord's broken bands.'"As she came by my good lord's bower,Saw mony black steeds an' brown;I'm feared it be mony unco lords55Havin' my love from town."As she came by my gude lord's bower,Saw mony black steeds an' grey;"I'm feared its mony unco lordsHavin' my love to the clay."60
Thomas Stuart was a lord,A lord of mickle land;He used to wear a coat of gold,But now his grave is green.
Now he has wooed the young countess,5The Countess of Balquhin,An' given her for a morning gift,Strathboggie and Aboyne.
But women's wit is aye willful,Alas! that ever it was sae;10She longed to see the morning giftThat her gude lord to her gae.
When steeds were saddled an' weel bridled,An' ready for to ride,There came a pain on that gude lord,15His back, likewise his side.
He said, "Ride on, my lady fair,May goodness be your guide;For I'm sae sick an' weary thatNo farther can I ride."20
Now ben did come his father dear,Wearing a golden band;Says, "Is there nae leech in Edinburgh,Can cure my son from wrang?"
"O leech is come, an' leech is gane,25Yet, father, I'm aye waur;There's not a leech in Edinbro'Can death from me debar.
"But be a friend to my wife, father,Restore to her her own;30Restore to her my morning gift,Strathboggie and Aboyne.
"It had been gude for my wife, father,To me she'd born a son;He would have got my land an' rents,35Where they lie out an' in.
"It had been gude for my wife, father,To me she'd born an heir;He would have got my land an' rents,Where they lie fine an' fair."40
The steeds they strave into their stables,The boys could'nt get them bound;The hounds lay howling on the leech,'Cause their master was behind.
"I dreamed a dream since late yestreen,45I wish it may be good,That our chamber was full of swine,An' our bed full of blood.
"I saw a woman come from the West,Full sore wringing her hands,50And aye she cried, 'Ohon alas!My good lord's broken bands.'
"As she came by my good lord's bower,Saw mony black steeds an' brown;I'm feared it be mony unco lords55Havin' my love from town."
As she came by my gude lord's bower,Saw mony black steeds an' grey;"I'm feared its mony unco lordsHavin' my love to the clay."60
From Percy'sReliques, iii. 316.
The three following pieces are here inserted merely as specimens of a class of tales, horrible in their incidents but feeble in their execution, of which whole dreary volumes were printed and read about two centuries ago. They were all of them, probably, founded on Italian novels.
"The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories, entitled,The Theatre of God's Judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642. Pt. 2, p. 89. The text is given (with corrections) from two copies; one of them in black-letter in the Pepys Collection. In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way of burden:
Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:Depart from hence, and therein dwell."
Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:Depart from hence, and therein dwell."
All tender hearts, that ake to hearOf those that suffer wrong;All you that never shed a tear,Give heed unto my song.Fair Isabella's tragedy5My tale doth far exceed:Alas, that so much crueltyIn female hearts should breed!In Spain a lady liv'd of late,Who was of high degree;10Whose wayward temper did createMuch woe and misery.Strange jealousies so filled her headWith many a vain surmize,She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,15And did her love despise.A gentlewoman passing fairDid on this lady wait;With bravest dames she might compare;Her beauty was compleat.20Her lady cast a jealous eyeUpon this gentle maid,And taxt her with disloyaltye,And did her oft upbraid.In silence still this maiden meek25Her bitter taunts would bear,While oft adown her lovely cheekWould steal the falling tear.In vain in humble sort she stroveHer fury to disarm;30As well the meekness of the doveThe bloody hawke might charm.Her lord, of humour light and gay,And innocent the while,As oft as she came in his way,35Would on the damsell smile.And oft before his lady's face,As thinking her her friend,He would the maiden's modest graceAnd comeliness commend.40All which incens'd his lady so,She burnt with wrath extreame;At length the fire that long did glow,Burst forth into a flame.For on a day it so befell,45When he was gone from home,The lady all with rage did swell,And to the damsell come.And charging her with great offenceAnd many a grievous fault,50She bade her servants drag her thence,Into a dismal vault,That lay beneath the common-shore,—A dungeon dark and deep,Where they were wont, in days of yore,55Offenders great to keep.There never light of chearful dayDispers'd the hideous gloom;But dank and noisome vapours playAround the wretched room:60And adders, snakes, and toads therein,As afterwards was known,Long in this loathsome vault had bin,And were to monsters grown.Into this foul and fearful place,65The fair one innocentWas cast, before her lady's face;Her malice to content.This maid no sooner enter'd is,But strait, alas! she hears70The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:Then grievously she fears.Soon from their holes the vipers creep,And fiercely her assail,Which makes the damsel sorely weep,75And her sad fate bewail.With her fair hands she strives in vainHer body to defend;With shrieks and cries she doth complain,But all is to no end.80A servant listning near the door,Struck with her doleful noise,Strait ran his lady to implore;But she'll not hear his voice.With bleeding heart he goes agen85To mark the maiden's groans;And plainly hears, within the den,How she herself bemoans.Again he to his lady hies,With all the haste he may;90She into furious passion flies,And orders him away.Still back again does he returnTo hear her tender cries;The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn,95Which fill'd him with surprize.In grief, and horror, and affright,He listens at the wallsBut finding all was silent quite,He to his lady calls.100"Too sure, O lady," now quoth he,"Your cruelty hath sped;Make haste, for shame, and come and see;I fear the virgin's dead."She starts to hear her sudden fate,105And does with torches run;But all her haste was now too late,For death his worst had done.The door being open'd, strait they foundThe virgin stretch'd along;110Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,Which her to death had stung.One round her legs, her thighs, her waist,Had twin'd his fatal wreath;The other close her neck embrac'd,115And stopt her gentle breath.The snakes being from her body thrust,Their bellies were so fill'd,That with excess of blood they burst,Thus with their prey were kill'd.120The wicked lady, at this sight,With horror strait ran mad;So raving dy'd, as was most right,'Cause she no pity had.Let me advise you, ladies all,125Of jealousy beware:It causeth many a one to fall,And is the devil's snare.
All tender hearts, that ake to hearOf those that suffer wrong;All you that never shed a tear,Give heed unto my song.
Fair Isabella's tragedy5My tale doth far exceed:Alas, that so much crueltyIn female hearts should breed!
In Spain a lady liv'd of late,Who was of high degree;10Whose wayward temper did createMuch woe and misery.
Strange jealousies so filled her headWith many a vain surmize,She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,15And did her love despise.
A gentlewoman passing fairDid on this lady wait;With bravest dames she might compare;Her beauty was compleat.20
Her lady cast a jealous eyeUpon this gentle maid,And taxt her with disloyaltye,And did her oft upbraid.
In silence still this maiden meek25Her bitter taunts would bear,While oft adown her lovely cheekWould steal the falling tear.
In vain in humble sort she stroveHer fury to disarm;30As well the meekness of the doveThe bloody hawke might charm.
Her lord, of humour light and gay,And innocent the while,As oft as she came in his way,35Would on the damsell smile.
And oft before his lady's face,As thinking her her friend,He would the maiden's modest graceAnd comeliness commend.40
All which incens'd his lady so,She burnt with wrath extreame;At length the fire that long did glow,Burst forth into a flame.
For on a day it so befell,45When he was gone from home,The lady all with rage did swell,And to the damsell come.
And charging her with great offenceAnd many a grievous fault,50She bade her servants drag her thence,Into a dismal vault,
That lay beneath the common-shore,—A dungeon dark and deep,Where they were wont, in days of yore,55Offenders great to keep.
There never light of chearful dayDispers'd the hideous gloom;But dank and noisome vapours playAround the wretched room:60
And adders, snakes, and toads therein,As afterwards was known,Long in this loathsome vault had bin,And were to monsters grown.
Into this foul and fearful place,65The fair one innocentWas cast, before her lady's face;Her malice to content.
This maid no sooner enter'd is,But strait, alas! she hears70The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:Then grievously she fears.
Soon from their holes the vipers creep,And fiercely her assail,Which makes the damsel sorely weep,75And her sad fate bewail.
With her fair hands she strives in vainHer body to defend;With shrieks and cries she doth complain,But all is to no end.80
A servant listning near the door,Struck with her doleful noise,Strait ran his lady to implore;But she'll not hear his voice.
With bleeding heart he goes agen85To mark the maiden's groans;And plainly hears, within the den,How she herself bemoans.
Again he to his lady hies,With all the haste he may;90She into furious passion flies,And orders him away.
Still back again does he returnTo hear her tender cries;The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn,95Which fill'd him with surprize.
In grief, and horror, and affright,He listens at the wallsBut finding all was silent quite,He to his lady calls.100
"Too sure, O lady," now quoth he,"Your cruelty hath sped;Make haste, for shame, and come and see;I fear the virgin's dead."
She starts to hear her sudden fate,105And does with torches run;But all her haste was now too late,For death his worst had done.
The door being open'd, strait they foundThe virgin stretch'd along;110Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,Which her to death had stung.
One round her legs, her thighs, her waist,Had twin'd his fatal wreath;The other close her neck embrac'd,115And stopt her gentle breath.
The snakes being from her body thrust,Their bellies were so fill'd,That with excess of blood they burst,Thus with their prey were kill'd.120
The wicked lady, at this sight,With horror strait ran mad;So raving dy'd, as was most right,'Cause she no pity had.
Let me advise you, ladies all,125Of jealousy beware:It causeth many a one to fall,And is the devil's snare.
"This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 263, folio. It is there entitled,The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty; being a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed on the body of the Lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble Duke, &c. To the tune of The Lady's Fall. To some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, entitled,The Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation." Percy'sReliques, iii. 199.
The copy in Durfey'sPills to Purge Melancholy, v. 53, is nearlyverbatimthe same.
There was a lord of worthy fame,And a hunting he would ride,Attended by a noble traineOf gentrye by his side.And while he did in chase remaine,5To see both sport and playe,His ladye went, as she did feigne,Unto the church to praye.This lord he had a daughter deare,Whose beauty shone so bright,10She was belov'd, both far and neare,Of many a lord and knight.Fair Isabella was she call'd,A creature faire was shee;She was her fathers only joye;15As you shall after see.Therefore her cruel step-motherDid envye her so much,That daye by daye she sought her life,Her malice it was such.20She bargain'd with the master-cookTo take her life awaye;And taking of her daughter's book,She thus to her did saye:—"Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,25Go hasten presentlie,And tell unto the master-cookThese wordes that I tell thee."And bid him dresse to dinner streightThat faire and milk-white doe30That in the parke doth shine so bright,There's none so faire to showe."This ladye fearing of no harme,Obey'd her mothers will;And presentlye she hasted home,35Her pleasure to fulfill.She streight into the kitchen went,Her message for to tell;And there she spied the master-cook,Who did with malice swell.40"Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe,Do that which I thee tell:You needes must dresse the milk-white doe,Which you do knowe full well."Then streight his cruell bloodye hands,45He on the ladye layd;Who quivering and shaking stands,While thus to her he sayd:"Thou art the doe that I must dresse;See here, behold my knife;50For it is pointed presentlyTo ridd thee of thy life.""O then," cried out the scullion-boye,As loud as loud might bee,"O save her life, good master-cook,55And make your pyes of mee!"For pityes sake do not destroyeMy ladye with your knife;You know shee is her father's joye;For Christes sake save her life!"60"I will not save her life," he sayd,"Nor make my pyes of thee;Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye,Thy butcher I will bee."Now when this lord he did come home65For to sitt down and eat,He called for his daughter deare,To come and carve his meat."Now sit you downe," his ladye sayd,"O sit you downe to meat;70Into some nunnery she is gone;Your daughter deare forget."Then solemnlye he made a voweBefore the companie,That he would neither eat nor drinke,75Until he did her see.O then bespake the scullion-boye.With a loud voice so hye;"If now you will your daughter see,My lord, cut up that pye:80"Wherein her fleshe is minced small,And parched with the fire;All caused by her step-mother,Who did her death desire."And cursed bee the master-cook,85O cursed may he bee!I proffered him my own heart's blood,From death to set her free."Then all in blacke this lord did mourne,And for his daughters sake,90He judged her cruell step-motherTo be burnt at a stake.Likewise he judg'd the master-cookIn boiling lead to stand.And made the simple scullion-boye95The heire of all his land.
There was a lord of worthy fame,And a hunting he would ride,Attended by a noble traineOf gentrye by his side.
And while he did in chase remaine,5To see both sport and playe,His ladye went, as she did feigne,Unto the church to praye.
This lord he had a daughter deare,Whose beauty shone so bright,10She was belov'd, both far and neare,Of many a lord and knight.
Fair Isabella was she call'd,A creature faire was shee;She was her fathers only joye;15As you shall after see.
Therefore her cruel step-motherDid envye her so much,That daye by daye she sought her life,Her malice it was such.20
She bargain'd with the master-cookTo take her life awaye;And taking of her daughter's book,She thus to her did saye:—
"Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,25Go hasten presentlie,And tell unto the master-cookThese wordes that I tell thee.
"And bid him dresse to dinner streightThat faire and milk-white doe30That in the parke doth shine so bright,There's none so faire to showe."
This ladye fearing of no harme,Obey'd her mothers will;And presentlye she hasted home,35Her pleasure to fulfill.
She streight into the kitchen went,Her message for to tell;And there she spied the master-cook,Who did with malice swell.40
"Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe,Do that which I thee tell:You needes must dresse the milk-white doe,Which you do knowe full well."
Then streight his cruell bloodye hands,45He on the ladye layd;Who quivering and shaking stands,While thus to her he sayd:
"Thou art the doe that I must dresse;See here, behold my knife;50For it is pointed presentlyTo ridd thee of thy life."
"O then," cried out the scullion-boye,As loud as loud might bee,"O save her life, good master-cook,55And make your pyes of mee!
"For pityes sake do not destroyeMy ladye with your knife;You know shee is her father's joye;For Christes sake save her life!"60
"I will not save her life," he sayd,"Nor make my pyes of thee;Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye,Thy butcher I will bee."
Now when this lord he did come home65For to sitt down and eat,He called for his daughter deare,To come and carve his meat.
"Now sit you downe," his ladye sayd,"O sit you downe to meat;70Into some nunnery she is gone;Your daughter deare forget."
Then solemnlye he made a voweBefore the companie,That he would neither eat nor drinke,75Until he did her see.
O then bespake the scullion-boye.With a loud voice so hye;"If now you will your daughter see,My lord, cut up that pye:80
"Wherein her fleshe is minced small,And parched with the fire;All caused by her step-mother,Who did her death desire.
"And cursed bee the master-cook,85O cursed may he bee!I proffered him my own heart's blood,From death to set her free."
Then all in blacke this lord did mourne,And for his daughters sake,90He judged her cruell step-motherTo be burnt at a stake.
Likewise he judg'd the master-cookIn boiling lead to stand.And made the simple scullion-boye95The heire of all his land.
A Collection of Old Ballads, (1723,) ii. 152: also Evans'sOld Ballads, iii. 232. Entered in the Stationers'Registers, 1569-70. A writer in theBritish Bibliographer, (iv. 182,) has pointed out that this is only one of Bandello's novels versified. The novel is the 21st of the Third Part, (London, 1792.)
A lamentable Ballad of the tragical End of a gallant Lord and virtuous Lady; together with the untimely Death of their two Children: wickedly performed by a Heathenish and Blood-thirsty Black-a-moor, their Servant; the like of which Cruelty and Murder was never before heard of.
In Rome a nobleman did wedA virgin of great fame;A fairer creature never didDame Nature ever frame:By whom he had two children fair,5Whose beauty did excel;They were their parents only joy,They lov'd them both so well.The lord he lov'd to hunt the buck,The tiger, and the boar;10And still for swiftness always tookWith him a black-a-moor:Which black-a-moor within the woodHis lord he did offend,For which he did him then correct,15In hopes he would amend.The day it grew unto an end;Then homewards he did haste,Where with his lady he did rest,Until the night was past.20Then in the morning he did rise,And did his servants call;A hunting he provides to go:Straight they were ready allTo cause the toyl the lady did25Intreat him not to go:"Alas, good lady," then quoth he,"Why art thou grieved so?Content thyself, I will returnWith speed to thee again."30"Good father," quoth the little babes,"With us here still remain.""Farewel, dear children, I will goA fine thing for to buy;"But they, therewith nothing content,35Aloud began to cry.The mother takes them by the hand,Saying, "Come, go with meUnto the highest tower, whereYour father you shall see."40The black-a-moor, perceiving now,Who then did stay behind,His lord to be a hunting gone,Began to call to mind:"My master he did me correct,45My fault not being great;Now of his wife I'll be reveng'd,She shall not me intreat."The place was moated round about;The bridge he up did draw;50The gates he bolted very fast;Of none he stood in awe.He up into the tower went,The lady being there;Who, when she saw his countenance grim,55She straight began to fear.But now my trembling heart it quakesTo think what I must write;My senses all begin to fail,My soul it doth affright.60Yet must I make an end of thisWhich here I have begun,Which will make sad the hardest heart,Before that I have done.This wretch unto the lady went,65And her with speed did will,His lust forthwith to satisfy,His mind for to fulfil.The lady she amazed was,To hear the villain speak;70"Alas," quoth she, "what shall I do?With grief my heart will break."With that he took her in his arms;She straight for help did cry;"Content yourself, lady," he said,75"Your husband is not nigh:The bridge is drawn, the gates are shut,Therefore come lie with me,Or else I do protest and vow,Thy butcher I will be."80The crystal tears ran down her face,Her children cried amain,And sought to help their mother dear,But all it was in vain;For that egregious filthy rogue85Her hands behind her bound,And then perforce with all his might,He threw her on the ground.With that she shriek'd, her children cried,And such a noise did make,90That town-folks, hearing her laments,Did seek their parts to take:But all in vain; no way was foundTo help the lady's need,Who cried to them most piteously,95"O help! O help with speed!"Some run into the forest wide,Her lord home for to call;And they that stood still did lamentThis gallant lady's fall.100With speed her lord came posting home;He could not enter in;His lady's cries did pierce his heart;To call he did begin:"O hold thy hand, thou savage moor,105To hurt her do forbear,Or else be sure, if I do live,Wild horses shall thee tear."With that the rogue ran to the wall,He having had his will,110And brought one child under his arm,His dearest blood to spill.The child, seeing his father there,To him for help did call:"O father! help my mother dear,115We shall be killed all."Then fell the lord upon his knee,And did the moor intreat,To save the life of this poor child,Whose fear was then so great.120But this vile wretch the little childBy both the heels did takeAnd dash'd his brains against the wall,Whilst parent's hearts did ake:That being done, straightway he ran125The other child to fetch,And pluck'd it from the mother's breast,Most like a cruel wretch.Within one hand a knife he brought,The child within the other;130And holding it over the wall,Saying, "Thus shall die thy mother,"With that he cut the throat of it;Then to the father he did call,To look how he the head did cut,135And down the head did fall.This done, he threw it down the wallInto the moat so deep;Which made the father wring his hands,And grievously to weep.140Then to the lady went this rogue,Who was near dead with fear,Yet this vile wretch most cruellyDid drag her by the hair;And drew her to the very wall,145Which when her lord did see,Then presently he cried out,And fell upon his knee:Quoth he, "If thou wilt save her life,Whom I do love so dear,150I will forgive thee all is past,Though they concern me near."O save her life, I thee beseech;O save her, I thee pray,And I will grant thee what thou wilt155Demand of me this day.""Well," quoth the moor, "I do regardThe moan that thou dost make:If thou wilt grant me what I ask,I'll save her for thy sake."160"O save her life, and then demandOf me what thing thou wilt.""Cut off thy nose, and not one dropOf her blood shall be spilt."With that the lord presently took165A knife within his hand,And then his nose he quite cut off,In place where he did stand."Now I have bought my lady's life,"He to the moor did call;170"Then take her," quoth this wicked rogue,And down he let her fall.Which when her gallant lord did see,His senses all did fail;Yet many sought to save his life,175But nothing could prevail.When as the moor did see him dead,Then did he laugh amainAt them who for their gallant lordAnd lady did complain:180Quoth he, "I know you'll torture me,If that you can me get,But all your threats I do not fear,Nor yet regard one whit."Wild horses shall my body tear,185I know it to be true,But I prevent you of that pain:"And down himself he threw.Too good a death for such a wretch,A villain void of fear!190And thus doth end as sad a taleAs ever man did hear.
In Rome a nobleman did wedA virgin of great fame;A fairer creature never didDame Nature ever frame:By whom he had two children fair,5Whose beauty did excel;They were their parents only joy,They lov'd them both so well.
The lord he lov'd to hunt the buck,The tiger, and the boar;10And still for swiftness always tookWith him a black-a-moor:Which black-a-moor within the woodHis lord he did offend,For which he did him then correct,15In hopes he would amend.
The day it grew unto an end;Then homewards he did haste,Where with his lady he did rest,Until the night was past.20Then in the morning he did rise,And did his servants call;A hunting he provides to go:Straight they were ready all
To cause the toyl the lady did25Intreat him not to go:"Alas, good lady," then quoth he,"Why art thou grieved so?Content thyself, I will returnWith speed to thee again."30"Good father," quoth the little babes,"With us here still remain."
"Farewel, dear children, I will goA fine thing for to buy;"But they, therewith nothing content,35Aloud began to cry.The mother takes them by the hand,Saying, "Come, go with meUnto the highest tower, whereYour father you shall see."40
The black-a-moor, perceiving now,Who then did stay behind,His lord to be a hunting gone,Began to call to mind:"My master he did me correct,45My fault not being great;Now of his wife I'll be reveng'd,She shall not me intreat."
The place was moated round about;The bridge he up did draw;50The gates he bolted very fast;Of none he stood in awe.He up into the tower went,The lady being there;Who, when she saw his countenance grim,55She straight began to fear.
But now my trembling heart it quakesTo think what I must write;My senses all begin to fail,My soul it doth affright.60Yet must I make an end of thisWhich here I have begun,Which will make sad the hardest heart,Before that I have done.
This wretch unto the lady went,65And her with speed did will,His lust forthwith to satisfy,His mind for to fulfil.The lady she amazed was,To hear the villain speak;70"Alas," quoth she, "what shall I do?With grief my heart will break."
With that he took her in his arms;She straight for help did cry;"Content yourself, lady," he said,75"Your husband is not nigh:The bridge is drawn, the gates are shut,Therefore come lie with me,Or else I do protest and vow,Thy butcher I will be."80
The crystal tears ran down her face,Her children cried amain,And sought to help their mother dear,But all it was in vain;For that egregious filthy rogue85Her hands behind her bound,And then perforce with all his might,He threw her on the ground.
With that she shriek'd, her children cried,And such a noise did make,90That town-folks, hearing her laments,Did seek their parts to take:But all in vain; no way was foundTo help the lady's need,Who cried to them most piteously,95"O help! O help with speed!"
Some run into the forest wide,Her lord home for to call;And they that stood still did lamentThis gallant lady's fall.100With speed her lord came posting home;He could not enter in;His lady's cries did pierce his heart;To call he did begin:
"O hold thy hand, thou savage moor,105To hurt her do forbear,Or else be sure, if I do live,Wild horses shall thee tear."With that the rogue ran to the wall,He having had his will,110And brought one child under his arm,His dearest blood to spill.
The child, seeing his father there,To him for help did call:"O father! help my mother dear,115We shall be killed all."Then fell the lord upon his knee,And did the moor intreat,To save the life of this poor child,Whose fear was then so great.120
But this vile wretch the little childBy both the heels did takeAnd dash'd his brains against the wall,Whilst parent's hearts did ake:That being done, straightway he ran125The other child to fetch,And pluck'd it from the mother's breast,Most like a cruel wretch.
Within one hand a knife he brought,The child within the other;130And holding it over the wall,Saying, "Thus shall die thy mother,"With that he cut the throat of it;Then to the father he did call,To look how he the head did cut,135And down the head did fall.
This done, he threw it down the wallInto the moat so deep;Which made the father wring his hands,And grievously to weep.140Then to the lady went this rogue,Who was near dead with fear,Yet this vile wretch most cruellyDid drag her by the hair;
And drew her to the very wall,145Which when her lord did see,Then presently he cried out,And fell upon his knee:Quoth he, "If thou wilt save her life,Whom I do love so dear,150I will forgive thee all is past,Though they concern me near.
"O save her life, I thee beseech;O save her, I thee pray,And I will grant thee what thou wilt155Demand of me this day.""Well," quoth the moor, "I do regardThe moan that thou dost make:If thou wilt grant me what I ask,I'll save her for thy sake."160
"O save her life, and then demandOf me what thing thou wilt.""Cut off thy nose, and not one dropOf her blood shall be spilt."With that the lord presently took165A knife within his hand,And then his nose he quite cut off,In place where he did stand.
"Now I have bought my lady's life,"He to the moor did call;170"Then take her," quoth this wicked rogue,And down he let her fall.Which when her gallant lord did see,His senses all did fail;Yet many sought to save his life,175But nothing could prevail.
When as the moor did see him dead,Then did he laugh amainAt them who for their gallant lordAnd lady did complain:180Quoth he, "I know you'll torture me,If that you can me get,But all your threats I do not fear,Nor yet regard one whit.
"Wild horses shall my body tear,185I know it to be true,But I prevent you of that pain:"And down himself he threw.
Too good a death for such a wretch,A villain void of fear!190And thus doth end as sad a taleAs ever man did hear.
From Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland, ii. 6.
There ance liv'd a king in fair Scotland,King Malcolm called by name;Whom ancient history gives record,For valour, worth, and fame.And it fell ance upon a day,5The king sat down to dine;And then he miss'd a favourite knight,Whose name was Sir Colvin.But out it speaks another knight,Ane o' Sir Colvin's kin;10"He's lyin' in bed, right sick in love,All for your daughter Jean.""O waes me," said the royal king,"I'm sorry for the same;She maun take bread and wine sae red,15Give it to Sir Colvin."Then gently did she bear the bread,Her page did carry the wine,And set a table at his bed;—"Sir Colvin, rise and dine."20"O well love I the wine, lady,Come frae your lovely hand;But better love I your fair body,Than all fair Scotland's strand.""O hold your tongue now, Sir Colvin,25Let all your folly be;My love must be by honour won,Or nane shall enjoy me."But on the head o' Elrick's hill,Near by yon sharp hawthorn,30Where never a man with life e'er came,Sin our sweet Christ was born;—"O ye'll gang there and walk a' night,And boldly blaw your horn;With honour that ye do return,35Ye'll marry me the morn."Then up it raise him, Sir Colvin,And dress'd in armour keen;And he is on to Elrick's hill,Without light of the meen.40At midnight mark the meen upstarts;The knight walk'd up and down;While loudest cracks o' thunder roar'd,Out ower the bent sae brown.Then by the twinkling of an e'e45He spied an armed knight;A fair lady bearing his brand,Wi' torches burning bright.Then he cried high, as he came nigh,"Coward, thief, I bid you flee!50There is not ane comes to this hill,But must engage wi' me."Ye'll best take road before I come,And best take foot and flee;Here is a sword baith sharp and broad,55Will quarter you in three."Sir Colvin said, "I'm not afraidOf any here I see;You hae not ta'en your God before;Less dread hae I o' thee."60Sir Colvin then he drew his sword,His foe he drew his brand;And they fought there on Elrick's hillTill they were bluidy men.The first an' stroke the knight he strake,65Gae Colvin a slight wound;The next an' stroke Lord Colvin strake,Brought's foe unto the ground."I yield, I yield," the knight he said,"I fairly yield to thee;70Nae ane came e'er to Elrick-hillE'er gain'd such victorie."I and my forbears here did hauntThree hundred years and more;I'm safe to swear a solemn oath,75We were never beat before.""An asking," said the lady gay,"An asking ye'll grant me:""Ask on, ask on," said Sir Colvin,"What may your asking be?"80"Ye'll gie me hame my wounded knight,Let me fare on my way;And I'se ne'er be seen on Elrick's hill,By night, nor yet by day;And to this place we'll come nae mair,85Cou'd we win safe away;"To trouble any Christian oneLives in the righteous law,We'll come nae mair unto this place,Cou'd we win safe awa'."90"O ye'se get hame your wounded knight,Ye shall not gang alane;But I maun hae a wad o' him,Before that we twa twine."Sir Colvin being a book-learn'd man,95Sae gude in fencing tee,He's drawn a stroke behind his hand,And followed in speedilie.Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colvin's drawn,And followed in speedilie,100The knight's brand and sword handIn the air he gar'd them flee.It flew sae high into the sky,And lighted on the ground;The rings that were on these fingers105Were worth five hundred pound.Up he has ta'en that bluidy hand,Set it before the king;And the morn it was Wednesday,When he married his daughter Jean.110
There ance liv'd a king in fair Scotland,King Malcolm called by name;Whom ancient history gives record,For valour, worth, and fame.
And it fell ance upon a day,5The king sat down to dine;And then he miss'd a favourite knight,Whose name was Sir Colvin.
But out it speaks another knight,Ane o' Sir Colvin's kin;10"He's lyin' in bed, right sick in love,All for your daughter Jean."
"O waes me," said the royal king,"I'm sorry for the same;She maun take bread and wine sae red,15Give it to Sir Colvin."
Then gently did she bear the bread,Her page did carry the wine,And set a table at his bed;—"Sir Colvin, rise and dine."20
"O well love I the wine, lady,Come frae your lovely hand;But better love I your fair body,Than all fair Scotland's strand."
"O hold your tongue now, Sir Colvin,25Let all your folly be;My love must be by honour won,Or nane shall enjoy me.
"But on the head o' Elrick's hill,Near by yon sharp hawthorn,30Where never a man with life e'er came,Sin our sweet Christ was born;—
"O ye'll gang there and walk a' night,And boldly blaw your horn;With honour that ye do return,35Ye'll marry me the morn."
Then up it raise him, Sir Colvin,And dress'd in armour keen;And he is on to Elrick's hill,Without light of the meen.40
At midnight mark the meen upstarts;The knight walk'd up and down;While loudest cracks o' thunder roar'd,Out ower the bent sae brown.
Then by the twinkling of an e'e45He spied an armed knight;A fair lady bearing his brand,Wi' torches burning bright.
Then he cried high, as he came nigh,"Coward, thief, I bid you flee!50There is not ane comes to this hill,But must engage wi' me.
"Ye'll best take road before I come,And best take foot and flee;Here is a sword baith sharp and broad,55Will quarter you in three."
Sir Colvin said, "I'm not afraidOf any here I see;You hae not ta'en your God before;Less dread hae I o' thee."60
Sir Colvin then he drew his sword,His foe he drew his brand;And they fought there on Elrick's hillTill they were bluidy men.
The first an' stroke the knight he strake,65Gae Colvin a slight wound;The next an' stroke Lord Colvin strake,Brought's foe unto the ground.
"I yield, I yield," the knight he said,"I fairly yield to thee;70Nae ane came e'er to Elrick-hillE'er gain'd such victorie.
"I and my forbears here did hauntThree hundred years and more;I'm safe to swear a solemn oath,75We were never beat before."
"An asking," said the lady gay,"An asking ye'll grant me:""Ask on, ask on," said Sir Colvin,"What may your asking be?"80
"Ye'll gie me hame my wounded knight,Let me fare on my way;And I'se ne'er be seen on Elrick's hill,By night, nor yet by day;And to this place we'll come nae mair,85Cou'd we win safe away;
"To trouble any Christian oneLives in the righteous law,We'll come nae mair unto this place,Cou'd we win safe awa'."90
"O ye'se get hame your wounded knight,Ye shall not gang alane;But I maun hae a wad o' him,Before that we twa twine."
Sir Colvin being a book-learn'd man,95Sae gude in fencing tee,He's drawn a stroke behind his hand,And followed in speedilie.
Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colvin's drawn,And followed in speedilie,100The knight's brand and sword handIn the air he gar'd them flee.
It flew sae high into the sky,And lighted on the ground;The rings that were on these fingers105Were worth five hundred pound.
Up he has ta'en that bluidy hand,Set it before the king;And the morn it was Wednesday,When he married his daughter Jean.110
Translated in Jamieson'sPopular Ballads, ii. 103, from Syv'sKjœmpe Viser. See another copy in Nyerup'sDanske Viser, iv. 59.
The reivers they wad a stealing gang,To steal sae far frae hame;And stown ha'e they the king's daughter,Fair Annie hight by name.They've carried her into fremmit lands,5To a duke's son of high degree;And he has gie'n for Fair AnnieMickle goud and white money.And eight lang years o' love sae lealHad past atween them twae;10And now a bonny bairntimeO' seven fair sons had they.That lord he was of Meckelborg land,Of princely blood and stemme;And for his worth and curtesy15That lord a king became.But little wist that noble king,As little his barons bald,That it was the king of England's daughter,Had sae to him been sald!20And eight lang years sae past and gane,Fair Annie now may rue;For now she weets in fremmit landsAnither bride he'll wooe.Fair Annie's till his mither gane;25Fell low down on her knee;"A boon, a boon, now lady mither,Ye grant your oys and me!"If ever ye kist, if ever ye blest,And bade them thrive and thee,30O save them now frae scaith and scorn,O save your oys and me!"Their father's pride may yet relent;His mither's rede he'll hear;Nor for anither break the heart35That ance to him was dear."He had my love and maiden pride;I had nae mair to gi'e;He well may fa' a brighter bride,But nane that lo'es like me."40"A brighter bride he ne'er can fa';A richer well he may;But daughter dearer nor Fair Annie,His mither ne'er can ha'e."That princess stood her son before:45"My lord the king," said she,"Fy on the lawless life ye lead,Dishonour'd as ye be!"Its Annie's gude, and Annie's fair,And dearly she lo'es thee;50And the brightest gems in a' your crownYour seven fair sons wad be."Her love, her life, her maiden fame,Wi' you she shar'd them a';Now share wi' her your bridal bed;55Her due she well may fa'.""To my bridal bed, my mither dear,Fair Annie ne'er can win;I coft her out of fremmit lands,Nor ken her kith or kin."60And he's gard write a braid letter,His wedding to ordein;And to betrothe anither brideTo be his noble queen.Fair Annie up at her bower window65Heard a' that knight did say:"O God, my heavenly Father! gifMy heart mat brast in twae!"Fair Annie stood at her bower window,And heard that knight sae bald:70"O God, my heavenly Father! gifI mat my dearest hald!"That lord is to Fair Annie gane:Says, "Annie, thou winsome may,O whatten a gude gift will ye gi'e75My bride on her bridal day?""I'll gi'e her a gift, and a very gude gift,And a dear-bought gift to me;For I'll gi'e her my seven fair sons,Her pages for to be."80"O that is a gift, but nae gude gift,Frae thee, Fair Annie, I ween;And ye maun gi'e some richer giftBefitting a noble queen.""I'll gi'e her a gift, and a dear, dear gift,85And a gift I brook wi' care;For I'll gi'e her my dearest life,That I dow brook nae mair.""O that is a gift, but a dowie gift,Now, Annie, thou winsome may;90Ye maun gi'e her your best goud girdle,Her gude will for to ha'e.""Oh na, that girdle she ne'er shall fa';That I can never bear;The luckless morn I gave you a',95Ye gae me that girdle to wear."That lord before his bride gan stand:"My noble bride and queen!O whatten a gift to my lemman AnnieWill now by you be gi'en?"100"I'll gi'e her a gift, and a very gude gift,My lord the king," said she;"For I'll gi'e her my auld shoe to wear,Best fitting her base degree.""O that is a gift, but nae gude gift,105My noble bride and queen;And ye maun gi'e her anither gift,If you'll my favour win.""Then I'll gi'e her a very gude gift,My lord the king," said she;110"I'll gie her my millers seven, that ligSae far ayont the sea."Well are they fed, well are they clad,And live in heal and weal;And well they ken to measure out115The wheat, but and caneel."Fair Annie says, "My noble lord,This boon ye grant to me;Let me gang up to the bridal bower,Your young bride for to see."120"O gangna, Annie, gangna, there,Nor come that bower within;Ye maunna come near that bridal bower,Wad ye my favour win."Fair Annie is till his mither gane:125"O lady mither," said she,"May I gang to the bridal bower,My lord's new bride to see?""That well ye may," his mither said;But see that ye're buskit bra',130And clad ye in your best cleading,Wi' your bower maidens a'."Fair Annie she's gaen to the bower,Wi' heart fu' sair and sad;Wi' a' her seven sons her before,135In the red scarlet clad.Fair Annie's taen a silver can,Afore the bride to skink;And down her cheeks the tears ay run,Upon hersell to think.140The bride gan stand her lord before:"Now speak, and dinna spare;Whare is this fair young lady frae?Whareto greets she sae sair?""O hear ye now, dear lady mine,145The truth I tell to thee;It is but a bonny niece of mine,That is come o'er the sea.""O wae is me, my lord," she says,"To hear you say sic wrang;150It can be nane but your auld lemman;God rede whare she will gang!""Then till her sorrow, and till her wae,I'll tell the truth to thee;For she was sald frae fremmit lands,155For mickle goud to me."Her bairntime a' stand her before,Her seven young sons sae fair;And they maun now your pages be,That maks her heart sae sair."160"A little sister ance I had,A sister that hight Ann;By reivers she was stown awa',And sald in fremmit land."She was a bairn when she was stown,165Yet in her tender years;And sair her parents mourn'd for her,Wi' mony sighs and tears."Art thou fair Annie, sister mine,Thou noble violet flower?170Her mither never smil'd againFrae Annie left her bower!"O thou art she! a sister's heartWants nane that tale to tell!And there he is, thy ain true lord;175God spare ye lang and well!"And gladness through the palace spread,Wi' mickle game and glee;And blythe were a' for fair Annie,Her bridal day to see.180And now untill her father's landThis young bride she is gane;And her sister Annie's youngest sonShe hame wi' her has ta'en.
The reivers they wad a stealing gang,To steal sae far frae hame;And stown ha'e they the king's daughter,Fair Annie hight by name.
They've carried her into fremmit lands,5To a duke's son of high degree;And he has gie'n for Fair AnnieMickle goud and white money.
And eight lang years o' love sae lealHad past atween them twae;10And now a bonny bairntimeO' seven fair sons had they.
That lord he was of Meckelborg land,Of princely blood and stemme;And for his worth and curtesy15That lord a king became.
But little wist that noble king,As little his barons bald,That it was the king of England's daughter,Had sae to him been sald!20
And eight lang years sae past and gane,Fair Annie now may rue;For now she weets in fremmit landsAnither bride he'll wooe.
Fair Annie's till his mither gane;25Fell low down on her knee;"A boon, a boon, now lady mither,Ye grant your oys and me!
"If ever ye kist, if ever ye blest,And bade them thrive and thee,30O save them now frae scaith and scorn,O save your oys and me!
"Their father's pride may yet relent;His mither's rede he'll hear;Nor for anither break the heart35That ance to him was dear.
"He had my love and maiden pride;I had nae mair to gi'e;He well may fa' a brighter bride,But nane that lo'es like me."40
"A brighter bride he ne'er can fa';A richer well he may;But daughter dearer nor Fair Annie,His mither ne'er can ha'e."
That princess stood her son before:45"My lord the king," said she,"Fy on the lawless life ye lead,Dishonour'd as ye be!
"Its Annie's gude, and Annie's fair,And dearly she lo'es thee;50And the brightest gems in a' your crownYour seven fair sons wad be.
"Her love, her life, her maiden fame,Wi' you she shar'd them a';Now share wi' her your bridal bed;55Her due she well may fa'."
"To my bridal bed, my mither dear,Fair Annie ne'er can win;I coft her out of fremmit lands,Nor ken her kith or kin."60
And he's gard write a braid letter,His wedding to ordein;And to betrothe anither brideTo be his noble queen.
Fair Annie up at her bower window65Heard a' that knight did say:"O God, my heavenly Father! gifMy heart mat brast in twae!"
Fair Annie stood at her bower window,And heard that knight sae bald:70"O God, my heavenly Father! gifI mat my dearest hald!"
That lord is to Fair Annie gane:Says, "Annie, thou winsome may,O whatten a gude gift will ye gi'e75My bride on her bridal day?"
"I'll gi'e her a gift, and a very gude gift,And a dear-bought gift to me;For I'll gi'e her my seven fair sons,Her pages for to be."80
"O that is a gift, but nae gude gift,Frae thee, Fair Annie, I ween;And ye maun gi'e some richer giftBefitting a noble queen."
"I'll gi'e her a gift, and a dear, dear gift,85And a gift I brook wi' care;For I'll gi'e her my dearest life,That I dow brook nae mair."
"O that is a gift, but a dowie gift,Now, Annie, thou winsome may;90Ye maun gi'e her your best goud girdle,Her gude will for to ha'e."
"Oh na, that girdle she ne'er shall fa';That I can never bear;The luckless morn I gave you a',95Ye gae me that girdle to wear."
That lord before his bride gan stand:"My noble bride and queen!O whatten a gift to my lemman AnnieWill now by you be gi'en?"100
"I'll gi'e her a gift, and a very gude gift,My lord the king," said she;"For I'll gi'e her my auld shoe to wear,Best fitting her base degree."
"O that is a gift, but nae gude gift,105My noble bride and queen;And ye maun gi'e her anither gift,If you'll my favour win."
"Then I'll gi'e her a very gude gift,My lord the king," said she;110"I'll gie her my millers seven, that ligSae far ayont the sea.
"Well are they fed, well are they clad,And live in heal and weal;And well they ken to measure out115The wheat, but and caneel."
Fair Annie says, "My noble lord,This boon ye grant to me;Let me gang up to the bridal bower,Your young bride for to see."120
"O gangna, Annie, gangna, there,Nor come that bower within;Ye maunna come near that bridal bower,Wad ye my favour win."
Fair Annie is till his mither gane:125"O lady mither," said she,"May I gang to the bridal bower,My lord's new bride to see?"
"That well ye may," his mither said;But see that ye're buskit bra',130And clad ye in your best cleading,Wi' your bower maidens a'."
Fair Annie she's gaen to the bower,Wi' heart fu' sair and sad;Wi' a' her seven sons her before,135In the red scarlet clad.
Fair Annie's taen a silver can,Afore the bride to skink;And down her cheeks the tears ay run,Upon hersell to think.140
The bride gan stand her lord before:"Now speak, and dinna spare;Whare is this fair young lady frae?Whareto greets she sae sair?"
"O hear ye now, dear lady mine,145The truth I tell to thee;It is but a bonny niece of mine,That is come o'er the sea."
"O wae is me, my lord," she says,"To hear you say sic wrang;150It can be nane but your auld lemman;God rede whare she will gang!"
"Then till her sorrow, and till her wae,I'll tell the truth to thee;For she was sald frae fremmit lands,155For mickle goud to me.
"Her bairntime a' stand her before,Her seven young sons sae fair;And they maun now your pages be,That maks her heart sae sair."160
"A little sister ance I had,A sister that hight Ann;By reivers she was stown awa',And sald in fremmit land.
"She was a bairn when she was stown,165Yet in her tender years;And sair her parents mourn'd for her,Wi' mony sighs and tears.
"Art thou fair Annie, sister mine,Thou noble violet flower?170Her mither never smil'd againFrae Annie left her bower!
"O thou art she! a sister's heartWants nane that tale to tell!And there he is, thy ain true lord;175God spare ye lang and well!"
And gladness through the palace spread,Wi' mickle game and glee;And blythe were a' for fair Annie,Her bridal day to see.180
And now untill her father's landThis young bride she is gane;And her sister Annie's youngest sonShe hame wi' her has ta'en.
From Kinloch'sAncient Scottish Ballads, p. 180.