Child Noryce is a clever young man,He wavers wi' the wind;His horse was silver shod before,With the beaten gold behind.He called to his little man John,5Saying, "You don't see what I see;For O yonder I see the very first womanThat ever loved me."Here is a glove, a glove," he said,"Lined with the silver gris;10You may tell her to come to the merry green wood,To speak to Child Nory."Here is a ring, a ring," he says,"It's all gold but the stane;You may tell her to come to the merry green wood,15And ask the leave o' nane.""So well do I love your errand, my master,But far better do I love my life;O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castel,To betray away his wife?"20"O don't I give you meat," he says,"And don't I pay you fee?How dare you stop my errand?" he says;"My orders you must obey."O when he came to Lord Barnard's castel,25He tinkled at the ring;Who was as ready asLord BarnardhimselfTo let this little boy in?"Here is a glove, a glove," he says,"Lined with the silver gris;30You are bidden to come to the merry green wood,To speak to Child Nory."Here is a ring, a ring," he says,"It's all gold but the stane:You are bidden to come to the merry green wood,35And ask the leave o' nane."Lord Barnard he was standing by,And an angry man was he:"O little did I think there was a lord in this worldMy lady loved but me!"40O he dressed himself in the Holland smocks,And garments that was gay;And he is away to the merry green wood,To speak to Child Nory.Child Noryce sits on yonder tree,45He whistles and he sings:"O wae be to me," says Child Noryce,"Yonder my mother comes!"Child Noryce he came off the tree,His mother to take off the horse:50"Och alace, alace," says Child Noryce,"My mother was ne'er so gross."Lord Barnard he had a little small sword,That hung low down by his knee;He cut the head off Child Noryce,55And put the body on a tree.And when he came to his castel,And to his lady's hall,He threw the head into her lap,Saying, "Lady, there is a ball!"60She turned up the bloody head,She kissed it frae cheek to chin:"Far better do I love this bloody headThan all my royal kin."When I was in my father's castell,65In my virginitie,There came a lord into the North,Gat Child Noryce with me.""O wae be to thee, Lady Margaret," he said,"And an ill death may you die;70For if you had told me he was your son,He had ne'er been slain by me."
Child Noryce is a clever young man,He wavers wi' the wind;His horse was silver shod before,With the beaten gold behind.
He called to his little man John,5Saying, "You don't see what I see;For O yonder I see the very first womanThat ever loved me.
"Here is a glove, a glove," he said,"Lined with the silver gris;10You may tell her to come to the merry green wood,To speak to Child Nory.
"Here is a ring, a ring," he says,"It's all gold but the stane;You may tell her to come to the merry green wood,15And ask the leave o' nane."
"So well do I love your errand, my master,But far better do I love my life;O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castel,To betray away his wife?"20
"O don't I give you meat," he says,"And don't I pay you fee?How dare you stop my errand?" he says;"My orders you must obey."
O when he came to Lord Barnard's castel,25He tinkled at the ring;Who was as ready asLord BarnardhimselfTo let this little boy in?
"Here is a glove, a glove," he says,"Lined with the silver gris;30You are bidden to come to the merry green wood,To speak to Child Nory.
"Here is a ring, a ring," he says,"It's all gold but the stane:You are bidden to come to the merry green wood,35And ask the leave o' nane."
Lord Barnard he was standing by,And an angry man was he:"O little did I think there was a lord in this worldMy lady loved but me!"40
O he dressed himself in the Holland smocks,And garments that was gay;And he is away to the merry green wood,To speak to Child Nory.
Child Noryce sits on yonder tree,45He whistles and he sings:"O wae be to me," says Child Noryce,"Yonder my mother comes!"
Child Noryce he came off the tree,His mother to take off the horse:50"Och alace, alace," says Child Noryce,"My mother was ne'er so gross."
Lord Barnard he had a little small sword,That hung low down by his knee;He cut the head off Child Noryce,55And put the body on a tree.
And when he came to his castel,And to his lady's hall,He threw the head into her lap,Saying, "Lady, there is a ball!"60
She turned up the bloody head,She kissed it frae cheek to chin:"Far better do I love this bloody headThan all my royal kin.
"When I was in my father's castell,65In my virginitie,There came a lord into the North,Gat Child Noryce with me."
"O wae be to thee, Lady Margaret," he said,"And an ill death may you die;70For if you had told me he was your son,He had ne'er been slain by me."
27. This unquestionably should be Lady Barnard, instead of her lord. See third stanza under. M.
27. This unquestionably should be Lady Barnard, instead of her lord. See third stanza under. M.
From theMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border, (iii. 175,) where it was first published. It was "taken from Mr. Herd's MSS., with several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect copy in the same volume, and one or two conjectural emendations in the arrangement of the stanzas."
That that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers is an independent story, is obvious both from internal evidence, and from the separate existence of those concluding stanzas in a variety of forms: as,Sweet William's Ghost, (Tea-Table Miscellany, ii. 142,)Sweet William and May Margaret, (Kinloch, p. 241,)William and Marjorie, (Motherwell, p. 186.) Of this second part, Motherwell observes, that it is often made the tail-piece to other ballads where a deceased lover appears to his mistress. The two were, however, combined by Sir Walter Scott, and the present Editor has contented himself with indicating distinctly the close of the proper story.
An inferior copy ofClerk Saunders, published by Jamieson, is inserted in the Appendix, for the sake ofa few valuable stanzas. It resembles the Swedish ballad ofThe Cruel Brother, (Svenska Folk-Visor, iii. 107,) which, however, is much shorter. The edition of Buchan, (i. 160,) is entirely worthless. A North-Country version of the First Part is given by Kinloch,Ancient Scottish Ballads, 233.
Clerk Saunders and may Margaret,Walked ower yon garden green;And sad and heavy was the loveThat fell thir twa between."A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said,5"A bed for you and me!"—"Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret,"Till anes we married be;"For in may come my seven bauld brothers,Wi' torches burning bright;10They'll say—'We hae but ae sister,And behold she's wi' a knight!'"—"Then take the sword from my scabbard,And slowly lift the pin;And you may swear, and safe your aith,15Ye never let Clerk Saunders in."And take a napkin in your hand,And tie up baith your bonny een;And you may swear, and safe your aith,Ye saw me na since late yestreen."20It was about the midnight hour,When they asleep were laid,When in and came her seven brothers,Wi' torches burning red.When in and came her seven brothers,25Wi' torches burning bright;They said, "We hae but ae sister,And behold her lying with a knight!"Then out and spake the first o' them,"I bear the sword shall gar him die!"30And out and spake the second o' them,"His father has nae mair than he!"And out and spake the third o' them,"I wot that they are lovers dear!"And out and spake the fourth o' them,35"They hae been in love this mony a year!"Then out and spake the fifth o' them,"It were great sin true love to twain!"And out and spake the sixth of them,"It were shame to slay a sleeping man!"40Then up and gat the seventh o' them,And never a word spake he;But he has striped his bright brown brandOut through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'd45Into his arms as asleep she lay;And sad and silent was the nightThat was atween thir twae.And they lay still and sleeped sound,Until the day began to daw;50And kindly to him she did say,"It is time, true love, you were awa."But he lay still, and sleeped sound,Albeit the sun began to sheen;She looked atween her and the wa',55And dull and drowsie were his een.Then in and came her father dear,Said—"Let a' your mourning be:I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay,And I'll come back and comfort thee."—60"Comfort weel your seven sons,For comforted will I never be:I ween 'twas neither knave nor loonWas in the bower last night wi' me."—
Clerk Saunders and may Margaret,Walked ower yon garden green;And sad and heavy was the loveThat fell thir twa between.
"A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said,5"A bed for you and me!"—"Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret,"Till anes we married be;
"For in may come my seven bauld brothers,Wi' torches burning bright;10They'll say—'We hae but ae sister,And behold she's wi' a knight!'"—
"Then take the sword from my scabbard,And slowly lift the pin;And you may swear, and safe your aith,15Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.
"And take a napkin in your hand,And tie up baith your bonny een;And you may swear, and safe your aith,Ye saw me na since late yestreen."20
It was about the midnight hour,When they asleep were laid,When in and came her seven brothers,Wi' torches burning red.
When in and came her seven brothers,25Wi' torches burning bright;They said, "We hae but ae sister,And behold her lying with a knight!"
Then out and spake the first o' them,"I bear the sword shall gar him die!"30And out and spake the second o' them,"His father has nae mair than he!"
And out and spake the third o' them,"I wot that they are lovers dear!"And out and spake the fourth o' them,35"They hae been in love this mony a year!"
Then out and spake the fifth o' them,"It were great sin true love to twain!"And out and spake the sixth of them,"It were shame to slay a sleeping man!"40
Then up and gat the seventh o' them,And never a word spake he;But he has striped his bright brown brandOut through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.
Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'd45Into his arms as asleep she lay;And sad and silent was the nightThat was atween thir twae.
And they lay still and sleeped sound,Until the day began to daw;50And kindly to him she did say,"It is time, true love, you were awa."
But he lay still, and sleeped sound,Albeit the sun began to sheen;She looked atween her and the wa',55And dull and drowsie were his een.
Then in and came her father dear,Said—"Let a' your mourning be:I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay,And I'll come back and comfort thee."—60
"Comfort weel your seven sons,For comforted will I never be:I ween 'twas neither knave nor loonWas in the bower last night wi' me."—
20. In Kinloch's version of this ballad we have an additional stanza here:———"Ye'll take me in your arms twa,Ye'll carry me into your bed,And ye may swear, and save your aith,That in your bour floor I ne'er gae'd."
20. In Kinloch's version of this ballad we have an additional stanza here:—
——"Ye'll take me in your arms twa,Ye'll carry me into your bed,And ye may swear, and save your aith,That in your bour floor I ne'er gae'd."
——"Ye'll take me in your arms twa,Ye'll carry me into your bed,And ye may swear, and save your aith,That in your bour floor I ne'er gae'd."
The clinking bell gaed through the town,To carry the dead corse to the clay;And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,I wot, an hour before the day."Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says,5"Or are ye waking presentlie?Give me my faith and troth again,I wot, true love, I gied to thee."—"Your faith and troth ye sall never get,Nor our true love sall never twin,10Until ye come within my bower,And kiss me cheik and chin."—"My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,It has the smell, now, of the ground;And if I kiss thy comely mouth,15Thy days of life will not be lang."O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,I wot the wild fowls are boding day;Give me my faith and troth again,And let me fare me on my way."—20"Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,And our true love shall never twin,Until ye tell what comes of women,I wot, who die in strong traiveling.""Their beds are made in the heavens high,25Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,Weel set about wi' gillyflowers;I wot sweet company for to see."O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,I wot the wild fowl are boding day;30The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,And I, ere now, will be miss'd away."—Then she has ta'en acrystalwand,And she has stroken her troth thereon;She has given it him out at the shot-window,35Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan."I thank ye, Marg'ret; I thank ye, Marg'ret;And aye I thank ye heartilie;Gin ever the dead come for the quick,Be sure, Marg'ret, I'll come for thee."—40It's hosen and shoon and gown alone,She climb'd the wall, and follow'd him,Until she came to the green forest,And there she lost the sight o' him."Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?45Is there ony room at your feet?Or ony room at your side, Saunders,Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?"—"There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret,There's nae room at my feet;50My bed it is full lowly now:Amang the hungry worms I sleep."Cauld mould is my covering now,But and my winding-sheet;The dew it falls nae sooner down,55Than my resting place is weet."But plait a wand o' bonny birk,And lay it on my breast;And shed a tear upon my grave,And wish my saul gude rest.60"And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret,And Marg'ret o' veritie,Gin e'er ye love another man,Ne'er love him as ye did me."—Then up and crew the milk-white cock,65And up and crew the grey;Her lover vanish'd in the air,And she gaed weeping away.
The clinking bell gaed through the town,To carry the dead corse to the clay;And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,I wot, an hour before the day.
"Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says,5"Or are ye waking presentlie?Give me my faith and troth again,I wot, true love, I gied to thee."—
"Your faith and troth ye sall never get,Nor our true love sall never twin,10Until ye come within my bower,And kiss me cheik and chin."—
"My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,It has the smell, now, of the ground;And if I kiss thy comely mouth,15Thy days of life will not be lang.
"O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,I wot the wild fowls are boding day;Give me my faith and troth again,And let me fare me on my way."—20
"Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,And our true love shall never twin,Until ye tell what comes of women,I wot, who die in strong traiveling."
"Their beds are made in the heavens high,25Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,Weel set about wi' gillyflowers;I wot sweet company for to see.
"O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,I wot the wild fowl are boding day;30The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,And I, ere now, will be miss'd away."—
Then she has ta'en acrystalwand,And she has stroken her troth thereon;She has given it him out at the shot-window,35Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.
"I thank ye, Marg'ret; I thank ye, Marg'ret;And aye I thank ye heartilie;Gin ever the dead come for the quick,Be sure, Marg'ret, I'll come for thee."—40
It's hosen and shoon and gown alone,She climb'd the wall, and follow'd him,Until she came to the green forest,And there she lost the sight o' him.
"Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?45Is there ony room at your feet?Or ony room at your side, Saunders,Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?"—
"There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret,There's nae room at my feet;50My bed it is full lowly now:Amang the hungry worms I sleep.
"Cauld mould is my covering now,But and my winding-sheet;The dew it falls nae sooner down,55Than my resting place is weet.
"But plait a wand o' bonny birk,And lay it on my breast;And shed a tear upon my grave,And wish my saul gude rest.60
"And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret,And Marg'ret o' veritie,Gin e'er ye love another man,Ne'er love him as ye did me."—
Then up and crew the milk-white cock,65And up and crew the grey;Her lover vanish'd in the air,And she gaed weeping away.
1. The custom of the passing bell is still kept up in many villages in Scotland. The sexton goes through the town, ringing a small bell, and announcing the death of the departed, and the time of the funeral.Scott.33. Chrisom.57. The custom of binding the new-laid sod of the churchyard with osiers, or other saplings, prevailed both in England and Scotland, and served to protect the turf from injury by cattle, or otherwise.Scott.
1. The custom of the passing bell is still kept up in many villages in Scotland. The sexton goes through the town, ringing a small bell, and announcing the death of the departed, and the time of the funeral.Scott.
33. Chrisom.
57. The custom of binding the new-laid sod of the churchyard with osiers, or other saplings, prevailed both in England and Scotland, and served to protect the turf from injury by cattle, or otherwise.Scott.
From Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. 370.
"This Ballad, which possesses considerable beauty and pathos, is given from the recitation of a lady, now far advanced in years, with whose grandmother it was a deserved favourite. It is now for the first time printed. It bears some resemblance toClerk Saunders."
Subjoined is a different copy from Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland.
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,And he wore a milk-white weed O;And weel could Willie read and write,Far better ride on steed O.Lady Margerie was the first ladye5That drank to him the wine O;And aye as the healths gaed round and round,"Laddy, your love is mine O."Lady Margerie was the first ladyeThat drank to him the beer O;10And aye as the healths gaed round and round,Laddy, ye're welcome here O."You must come intill my bower,When the evening bells do ring O;And you must come intill my bower,15When the evening mass doth sing O."He's taen four-and-twenty braid arrows,And laced them in a whang O;And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower,As fast as he can gang O.20He set his ae foot on the wa',And the other on a stane O;And he's kill'd a' the king's life guards,He's kill'd them every man O."O open, open, Lady Margerie,25Open and let me in O;The weet weets a' my yellow hair,And the dew draps on my chin O."With her feet as white as sleet,She strode her bower within O;30And with her fingers lang and sma',She's looten sweet Willie in O.She's louted down unto his foot,To lowze sweet Willie's shoon O;The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze,35The blood had frozen in O."O Willie, O Willie, I fear that thouHast bred me dule and sorrow;The deed that thou hast done this nichtWill kythe upon the morrow."40In then came her father dear,And a braid sword by his gare O;And he's gien Willie, the widow's son,A deep wound and a sair O."Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says,45"Your sweat weets a' my side O;Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says,"For your sweat I downa bide O."She turned her back unto the wa',Her face unto the room O;50And there she saw her auld father,Fast walking up and doun O."Woe be to you, father," she said,"And an ill deid may you die O;For ye've killed Willie, the widow's son,55And he would have married me O."She turned her back unto the room,Her face unto the wa' O;And with a deep and heavy sich,Her heart it brak in twa O.60
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,And he wore a milk-white weed O;And weel could Willie read and write,Far better ride on steed O.
Lady Margerie was the first ladye5That drank to him the wine O;And aye as the healths gaed round and round,"Laddy, your love is mine O."
Lady Margerie was the first ladyeThat drank to him the beer O;10And aye as the healths gaed round and round,Laddy, ye're welcome here O.
"You must come intill my bower,When the evening bells do ring O;And you must come intill my bower,15When the evening mass doth sing O."
He's taen four-and-twenty braid arrows,And laced them in a whang O;And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower,As fast as he can gang O.20
He set his ae foot on the wa',And the other on a stane O;And he's kill'd a' the king's life guards,He's kill'd them every man O.
"O open, open, Lady Margerie,25Open and let me in O;The weet weets a' my yellow hair,And the dew draps on my chin O."
With her feet as white as sleet,She strode her bower within O;30And with her fingers lang and sma',She's looten sweet Willie in O.
She's louted down unto his foot,To lowze sweet Willie's shoon O;The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze,35The blood had frozen in O.
"O Willie, O Willie, I fear that thouHast bred me dule and sorrow;The deed that thou hast done this nichtWill kythe upon the morrow."40
In then came her father dear,And a braid sword by his gare O;And he's gien Willie, the widow's son,A deep wound and a sair O.
"Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says,45"Your sweat weets a' my side O;Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says,"For your sweat I downa bide O."
She turned her back unto the wa',Her face unto the room O;50And there she saw her auld father,Fast walking up and doun O.
"Woe be to you, father," she said,"And an ill deid may you die O;For ye've killed Willie, the widow's son,55And he would have married me O."
She turned her back unto the room,Her face unto the wa' O;And with a deep and heavy sich,Her heart it brak in twa O.60
From Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland, i. 155.
The Bent sae Brown, in the same volume, p. 30, resembles bothClerk Saundersand the present ballad, but has a different catastrophe.
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,And milk-white was his weed;It sets him weel to bridle a horse,And better to saddle a steed, my dear,And better to saddle a steed.5But he is on to Maisry's bower door,And tirled at the pin;"Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry,Ye'll open, let me come in, my dear,Ye'll open, let me come in."10"O who is this at my bower door,Sae well that knows my name?""It is your ain true love, Willie,If ye love me, lat me in, my dear,If ye love me, lat me in."15Then huly, huly raise she up,For fear o' making din;Then in her arms lang and bent,She caught sweet Willie in, my dear,She caught sweet Willie in.20She lean'd her low down to her toe,To loose her true love's sheen;But cauld, cauld were the draps o' bleed,Fell fae his trusty brand, my dear,Fell fae his trusty brand.25"What frightfu' sight is that, my love?A frightfu' sight to see;What bluid is this on your sharp brand,O may ye not tell me, my dear?O may ye not tell me?"30"As I came thro' the woods this night,The wolf maist worried me;O shou'd I slain the wolf, Maisry?Or shou'd the wolf slain me, my dear?Or shou'd the wolf slain me?"35They hadna kiss'd nor love clapped,As lovers when they meet,Till up it starts her auld father,Out o' his drowsy sleep, my dear,Out o' his drowsy sleep.40"O what's become o' my house cockSae crouse at ane did craw?I wonder as much at my bold watch,That's nae shootin ower the wa', my dear,That's nae shooting ower the wa'.45"My gude house cock, my only son,Heir ower my land sae free;If ony ruffian hae him slain,High hanged shall he be, my dear,High hanged shall he be."50Then he's on to Maisry's bower door,And tirled at the pin;"Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry,Ye'll open, lat me come in, my dear,Ye'll open, lat me come in."55Between the curtains and the wa',She row'd her true love then;And huly went she to the door,And let her father in, my dear,And let her father in.60"What's become o' your maries, Maisry,Your bower it looks sae teem?What's become o' your green claithing?Your beds they are sae thin, my dear,Your beds they are sae thin."65"Gude forgie you, father," she said,"I wish ye be't for sin;Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me,But never found me wrang, my dear,But never found me wrang."70He turn'd him right and round about,As he'd been gaun awa';But sae nimbly as he slippet in,Behind a screen sae sma', my dear,Behind a screen sae sma'.75Maisry thinking a' dangers past,She to her love did say;"Come, love, and take your silent rest,My auld father's away, my dear,My auld father's away!"80Then baith lock'd in each other's arms,They fell full fast asleep;When up it starts her auld father,And stood at their bed feet, my dear,And stood at their bed feet.85"I think I hae the villain now,That my dear son did slay;But I shall be reveng'd on him,Before I see the day, my dear,Before I see the day."90Then he's drawn out a trusty brand,And stroak'd it o'er a stray;And thro' and thro' sweet Willie's middleHe's gart cauld iron gae, my dear,He's gart cauld iron gae.95Then up it waken'd Lady Maisry,Out o' her drowsy sleep;And when she saw her true love slain,She straight began to weep, my dear,She straight began to weep.100"O gude forgie you now, father," she said,"I wish ye be't for sin;For I never lov'd a love but ane,In my arms ye've him slain, my dear,In my arms ye've him slain."105"This night he's slain my gude bold watch,Thirty stout men and twa;Likewise he's slain your ae brother,To me was worth them a', my dear,To me was worth them a'."110"If he has slain my ae brither,Himsell had a' the blame;For mony a day he plots contriv'd,To hae sweet Willie slain, my dear,To hae sweet Willie slain.115"And tho' he's slain your gude bold watch,He might hae been forgien;They came on him in armour bright,When he was but alane, my dear,When he was but alane."120Nae meen was made for this young knight,In bower where he lay slain;But a' was for sweet Maisry bright,In fields where she ran brain, my dear,In fields where she ran brain.125
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,And milk-white was his weed;It sets him weel to bridle a horse,And better to saddle a steed, my dear,And better to saddle a steed.5
But he is on to Maisry's bower door,And tirled at the pin;"Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry,Ye'll open, let me come in, my dear,Ye'll open, let me come in."10
"O who is this at my bower door,Sae well that knows my name?""It is your ain true love, Willie,If ye love me, lat me in, my dear,If ye love me, lat me in."15
Then huly, huly raise she up,For fear o' making din;Then in her arms lang and bent,She caught sweet Willie in, my dear,She caught sweet Willie in.20
She lean'd her low down to her toe,To loose her true love's sheen;But cauld, cauld were the draps o' bleed,Fell fae his trusty brand, my dear,Fell fae his trusty brand.25
"What frightfu' sight is that, my love?A frightfu' sight to see;What bluid is this on your sharp brand,O may ye not tell me, my dear?O may ye not tell me?"30
"As I came thro' the woods this night,The wolf maist worried me;O shou'd I slain the wolf, Maisry?Or shou'd the wolf slain me, my dear?Or shou'd the wolf slain me?"35
They hadna kiss'd nor love clapped,As lovers when they meet,Till up it starts her auld father,Out o' his drowsy sleep, my dear,Out o' his drowsy sleep.40
"O what's become o' my house cockSae crouse at ane did craw?I wonder as much at my bold watch,That's nae shootin ower the wa', my dear,That's nae shooting ower the wa'.45
"My gude house cock, my only son,Heir ower my land sae free;If ony ruffian hae him slain,High hanged shall he be, my dear,High hanged shall he be."50
Then he's on to Maisry's bower door,And tirled at the pin;"Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry,Ye'll open, lat me come in, my dear,Ye'll open, lat me come in."55
Between the curtains and the wa',She row'd her true love then;And huly went she to the door,And let her father in, my dear,And let her father in.60
"What's become o' your maries, Maisry,Your bower it looks sae teem?What's become o' your green claithing?Your beds they are sae thin, my dear,Your beds they are sae thin."65
"Gude forgie you, father," she said,"I wish ye be't for sin;Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me,But never found me wrang, my dear,But never found me wrang."70
He turn'd him right and round about,As he'd been gaun awa';But sae nimbly as he slippet in,Behind a screen sae sma', my dear,Behind a screen sae sma'.75
Maisry thinking a' dangers past,She to her love did say;"Come, love, and take your silent rest,My auld father's away, my dear,My auld father's away!"80
Then baith lock'd in each other's arms,They fell full fast asleep;When up it starts her auld father,And stood at their bed feet, my dear,And stood at their bed feet.85
"I think I hae the villain now,That my dear son did slay;But I shall be reveng'd on him,Before I see the day, my dear,Before I see the day."90
Then he's drawn out a trusty brand,And stroak'd it o'er a stray;And thro' and thro' sweet Willie's middleHe's gart cauld iron gae, my dear,He's gart cauld iron gae.95
Then up it waken'd Lady Maisry,Out o' her drowsy sleep;And when she saw her true love slain,She straight began to weep, my dear,She straight began to weep.100
"O gude forgie you now, father," she said,"I wish ye be't for sin;For I never lov'd a love but ane,In my arms ye've him slain, my dear,In my arms ye've him slain."105
"This night he's slain my gude bold watch,Thirty stout men and twa;Likewise he's slain your ae brother,To me was worth them a', my dear,To me was worth them a'."110
"If he has slain my ae brither,Himsell had a' the blame;For mony a day he plots contriv'd,To hae sweet Willie slain, my dear,To hae sweet Willie slain.115
"And tho' he's slain your gude bold watch,He might hae been forgien;They came on him in armour bright,When he was but alane, my dear,When he was but alane."120
Nae meen was made for this young knight,In bower where he lay slain;But a' was for sweet Maisry bright,In fields where she ran brain, my dear,In fields where she ran brain.125
"This singularly wild and beautiful old ballad," says Chambers, (Scottish Ballads, p. 345,) "is chiefly taken from the recitation of the editor's grandmother, who learned it, when a girl, nearly seventy years ago, from a Miss Anne Gray, resident at Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire; some additional stanzas, and a few various readings, being adopted from a less perfect, and far less poetical copy, published in Mr. Buchan's [Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, i. 281,] and from a fragment in theBorder Minstrelsy, entitledThe Wife of Usher's Well, [vol. i. p. 214, of this collection,] but which is evidently the same narrative."[A]
"The editor has been induced to divide this ballad into two parts, on account of thegreat superiority of what follows over what goes before, and because the latter portion is in a great measure independent of the other, so far as sense is concerned. The first part is composed of the Peeblesshire version, mingled with that of the northern editor: the second is formed of the Peeblesshire version, mingled with the fragment calledThe Wife of Usher's Well."
The natural desire of men to hear more of characters in whom they have become strongly interested, has frequently stimulated the attempt to continue successful fictions, and such supplements are proverbially unfortunate. A ballad-singer would have powerful inducements to gratify this passion of his audience, and he could most economically effect the object by stringing two ballads together. When a tale ended tragically, the sequel must of necessity be a ghost-story, and we have already had, inClerk Saunders, an instance of this combination. Mr. Chambers has furnished the best possible reasons for believing that the same process has taken place in the case of the present ballad, and that the two parts, (which occur separately,) having originally had no connection, were arbitrarily united, to suit the purposes of some unscrupulous rhapsodist.
[A]There is to a certain extent a resemblance between this ballad and the German balladDas Schloss in Oesterreich, found in most of the German collections, and in Swedish and Danish.
[A]There is to a certain extent a resemblance between this ballad and the German balladDas Schloss in Oesterreich, found in most of the German collections, and in Swedish and Danish.
O I will sing to you a sang,Will grieve your heart full sair;How the Clerk's twa sons o' OwsenfordHave to learn some unco lear.They hadna been in fair Parish5A twelvemonth and a day,Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in loveWi' the Mayor's dauchters twae.And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote,The ladies sewed and sang;10There was mair mirth in that chamber,Than in a' fair Ferrol's land.But word's gane to the michty Mayor,As he sailed on the sea,That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans15O' his fair dauchters twae."If they hae wranged my twa dauchters,Janet and Marjorie,The morn, ere I taste meat or drink,Hie hangit they shall be."20And word's gane to the clerk himsell,As he was drinking wine,That his twa sons at fair ParishWere bound in prison strang.Then up and spak the Clerk's ladye,25And she spak tenderlie:"O tak wi' ye a purse o' gowd,Or even tak ye three;And if ye canna get William,Bring Henry hame to me."30O sweetly sang the nightingale,As she sat on the wand;But sair, sair mourned Owsenford,As he gaed in the strand.When he came to their prison strang,35He rade it round about,And at a little shot-window,His sons were looking out."O lie ye there, my sons," he said,"For owsen or for kye?40Or what is it that ye lie for,Sae sair bound as ye lie?""We lie not here for owsen, father;Nor yet do we for kye;But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love,45Sae sair bound as we lie."O borrow us, borrow us, father," they said,"For the luve we bear to thee!""O never fear, my pretty sons,Weel borrowed ye sall be."50Then he's gane to the michty Mayor,And he spak courteouslie:"Will ye grant my twa sons' lives,Either for gold or fee?Or will ye be sae gude a man,55As grant them baith to me?""I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives,Neither for gold nor fee;Nor will I be sae gude a man,As gie them baith to thee;60But before the morn at twal o'clock,Ye'll see them hangit hie!"Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters,Wi' kirtle coat alone;Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,65As they tripped on the stone."Will ye gie us our loves, father,For gold, or yet for fee?Or will ye take our own sweet lives,And let our true loves be?"70He's taen a whip into his hand,And lashed them wondrous sair;"Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers;Ye'se never see them mair."Then out it speaks auld Owsenford;75A sorry man was he:"Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs;For a' this maunna be."Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry:"Come here, Janet, to me;80Will ye gie me my faith and troth,And love, as I gae thee?""Ye sall hae your faith and troth,Wi' God's blessing and mine:"And twenty times she kissed his mouth,85Her father looking on.Then out it speaks him gay William:"Come here, sweet Marjorie;Will ye gie me my faith and troth,And love, as I gae thee?"90"Yes, ye sall hae your faith and troth,Wi' God's blessing and mine:"And twenty times she kissed his mouth,Her father looking on.* * * * * * *"O ye'll tak aff your twa black hats,95Lay them down on a stone,That nane may ken that ye are clerks,Till ye are putten doun."The bonnie clerks they died that morn;Their loves died lang ere noon;100And the waefu' Clerk o' OwsenfordTo his lady has gane hame.
O I will sing to you a sang,Will grieve your heart full sair;How the Clerk's twa sons o' OwsenfordHave to learn some unco lear.
They hadna been in fair Parish5A twelvemonth and a day,Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in loveWi' the Mayor's dauchters twae.
And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote,The ladies sewed and sang;10There was mair mirth in that chamber,Than in a' fair Ferrol's land.
But word's gane to the michty Mayor,As he sailed on the sea,That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans15O' his fair dauchters twae.
"If they hae wranged my twa dauchters,Janet and Marjorie,The morn, ere I taste meat or drink,Hie hangit they shall be."20
And word's gane to the clerk himsell,As he was drinking wine,That his twa sons at fair ParishWere bound in prison strang.
Then up and spak the Clerk's ladye,25And she spak tenderlie:"O tak wi' ye a purse o' gowd,Or even tak ye three;And if ye canna get William,Bring Henry hame to me."30
O sweetly sang the nightingale,As she sat on the wand;But sair, sair mourned Owsenford,As he gaed in the strand.
When he came to their prison strang,35He rade it round about,And at a little shot-window,His sons were looking out.
"O lie ye there, my sons," he said,"For owsen or for kye?40Or what is it that ye lie for,Sae sair bound as ye lie?"
"We lie not here for owsen, father;Nor yet do we for kye;But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love,45Sae sair bound as we lie.
"O borrow us, borrow us, father," they said,"For the luve we bear to thee!""O never fear, my pretty sons,Weel borrowed ye sall be."50
Then he's gane to the michty Mayor,And he spak courteouslie:"Will ye grant my twa sons' lives,Either for gold or fee?Or will ye be sae gude a man,55As grant them baith to me?"
"I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives,Neither for gold nor fee;Nor will I be sae gude a man,As gie them baith to thee;60But before the morn at twal o'clock,Ye'll see them hangit hie!"
Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters,Wi' kirtle coat alone;Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,65As they tripped on the stone.
"Will ye gie us our loves, father,For gold, or yet for fee?Or will ye take our own sweet lives,And let our true loves be?"70
He's taen a whip into his hand,And lashed them wondrous sair;"Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers;Ye'se never see them mair."
Then out it speaks auld Owsenford;75A sorry man was he:"Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs;For a' this maunna be."
Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry:"Come here, Janet, to me;80Will ye gie me my faith and troth,And love, as I gae thee?"
"Ye sall hae your faith and troth,Wi' God's blessing and mine:"And twenty times she kissed his mouth,85Her father looking on.
Then out it speaks him gay William:"Come here, sweet Marjorie;Will ye gie me my faith and troth,And love, as I gae thee?"90
"Yes, ye sall hae your faith and troth,Wi' God's blessing and mine:"And twenty times she kissed his mouth,Her father looking on.
* * * * * * *
"O ye'll tak aff your twa black hats,95Lay them down on a stone,That nane may ken that ye are clerks,Till ye are putten doun."
The bonnie clerks they died that morn;Their loves died lang ere noon;100And the waefu' Clerk o' OwsenfordTo his lady has gane hame.
His lady sat on her castle wa',Beholding dale and doun;And there she saw her ain gude lordCome walking to the toun."Ye're welcome, ye're welcome, my ain gude lord,5Ye're welcome hame to me;But where-away are my twa sons?Ye suld hae brought them wi' ye.""O they are putten to a deeper lear,And to a higher scule:10Your ain twa sons will no be hameTill the hallow days o' Yule.""O sorrow, sorrow, come mak my bed;And, dule, come lay me doun;For I will neither eat nor drink,15Nor set a fit on groun'!"The hallow days o' Yule were come,And the nights were lang and mirk,When in and cam her ain twa sons,And their hats made o' the birk.20It neither grew in syke nor ditch,Nor yet in ony sheuch;But at the gates o' ParadiseThat birk grew fair eneuch."Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine,25Bring water from the well;For a' my house shall feast this night,Since my twa sons are well."O eat and drink, my merry-men a',The better shall ye fare;30For my two sons they are come hameTo me for evermair."And she has gane and made their bed,She's made it saft and fine;And she's happit them wi' her gay mantil,35Because they were her ain.But the young cock crew in the merry Linkum,And the wild fowl chirped for day;And the aulder to the younger said,"Brother, we maun away.40"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,The channerin worm doth chide;Gin we be missed out o' our place,A sair pain we maun bide.""Lie still, lie still a little wee while,45Lie still but if we may;Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,She'll gae mad ere it be day."* * * * * * *O it's they've taen up their mother's mantil,And they've hung it on a pin:50"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantil,Ere ye hap us again."
His lady sat on her castle wa',Beholding dale and doun;And there she saw her ain gude lordCome walking to the toun.
"Ye're welcome, ye're welcome, my ain gude lord,5Ye're welcome hame to me;But where-away are my twa sons?Ye suld hae brought them wi' ye."
"O they are putten to a deeper lear,And to a higher scule:10Your ain twa sons will no be hameTill the hallow days o' Yule."
"O sorrow, sorrow, come mak my bed;And, dule, come lay me doun;For I will neither eat nor drink,15Nor set a fit on groun'!"
The hallow days o' Yule were come,And the nights were lang and mirk,When in and cam her ain twa sons,And their hats made o' the birk.20
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,Nor yet in ony sheuch;But at the gates o' ParadiseThat birk grew fair eneuch.
"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine,25Bring water from the well;For a' my house shall feast this night,Since my twa sons are well.
"O eat and drink, my merry-men a',The better shall ye fare;30For my two sons they are come hameTo me for evermair."
And she has gane and made their bed,She's made it saft and fine;And she's happit them wi' her gay mantil,35Because they were her ain.
But the young cock crew in the merry Linkum,And the wild fowl chirped for day;And the aulder to the younger said,"Brother, we maun away.40
"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,The channerin worm doth chide;Gin we be missed out o' our place,A sair pain we maun bide."
"Lie still, lie still a little wee while,45Lie still but if we may;Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,She'll gae mad ere it be day."
* * * * * * *
O it's they've taen up their mother's mantil,And they've hung it on a pin:50"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantil,Ere ye hap us again."
First printed in a complete form in Maidment'sNorth Countrie Garland, p. 24. The same editor contributed a slightly different copy to Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, (p. 173.) An inferior version is furnished by Buchan, i. 234, and Jamieson has published a fragment on the same story, here given in theAppendix.