Sweet Willie and fair AnnieSat a' day on a hill;And though they had sitten seven year,They ne'er wad had their fill.Sweet Willie said a word in haste,5And Annie took it ill:"I winna wed a tocherless maid,Against my parent's will.""Ye're come o' the rich, Willie,And I'm come o' the poor;10I'm o'er laigh to be your bride,And I winna be your whore."O Annie she's gane till her bower,And Willie down the den;And he's come till his mither's bower,15By the lei light o' the moon."O sleep ye, wake ye, mither?" he says,"Or are ye the bower within?""I sleep richt aft, I wake richt aft;What want ye wi' me, son?20"Whare hae ye been a' night, Willie?O wow! ye've tarried lang!""I have been courtin' fair Annie,And she is frae me gane."There is twa maidens in a bower;25Which o' them sall I bring hame?The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,And fair Annie has nane.""It's an ye wed the nut-brown maid,I'll heap gold wi' my hand;30But an ye wed her, fair Annie,I'll straik it wi' a wand."The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,And fair Annie has nane;And Willie, for my benison,35The nut-brown maid bring hame.""O I sall wed the nut-brown maid,And I sall bring her hame;But peace nor rest between us twa,Till death sinder's again.40"But, alas, alas!" says sweet Willie,"O fair is Annie's face!""But what's the matter, my son Willie,She has nae ither grace.""Alas, alas!" says sweet Willie,45"But white is Annie's hand!""But what's the matter, my son Willie,She hasna a fur o' land.""Sheep will die in cots, mither,And owsen die in byre;50And what's this warld's wealth to me,An I get na my heart's desire?"Whare will I get a bonny boy,That wad fain win hose and shoon,That will rin to fair Annie's bower,55Wi' the lei light o' the moon?"Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin',The morn at twal at noon;Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin',The heir o'Duplin town.60"She manna put on the black, the black,Nor yet the dowie brown;But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,And her bonny locks hangin' down."He is on to Annie's bower,65And tirled at the pin;And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel,To open and let him in."Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin',The morn at twal at noon;70Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin',The heir of Duplin town."Ye manna put on the black, the black,Nor yet the dowie brown;But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,75And your bonny locks hangin' down.""Its I will come to Willie's weddin',The morn at twal at noon;Its I will come to Willie's weddin',But I rather the mass had been mine.80"Maidens, to my bower come,And lay gold on my hair;And whare ye laid ae plait before,Ye'll now lay ten times mair."Taylors, to my bower come,85And mak to me a weed;And smiths unto my stable come,And shoe to me a steed."At every tate o' Annie's horse' maneThere hang a silver bell;90And there came a wind out frae the south,Which made them a' to knell.And whan she came to Mary-kirk,And sat down in the deas,The light, that came frae fair Annie,95Enlighten'd a' the place.But up and stands the nut-brown bride,Just at her father's knee;"O wha is this, my father dear,That blinks in Willie's e'e?"100"O this is Willie's first true love,Before he loved thee.""If that be Willie's first true love,He might ha'e latten me be;She has as much gold on ae finger,105As I'll wear till I die."O whare got ye that water, Annie,That washes you sae white?""I got it in my mither's wambe,Whare ye'll ne'er get the like.110"For ye've been wash'd in Dunny's well,And dried on Dunny's dyke;And a' the water in the seaWill never wash ye white."Willie's ta'en a rose out o' his hat,115Laid it in Annie's lap;"[The bonniest to the bonniest fa's,]Hae, wear it for my sake.""Tak up and wear your rose, Willie,And wear't wi' mickle care,120For the woman sall never bear a son,That will mak my heart sae sair."Whan night was come, and day was gane,And a' man boun to bed,Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride125In their chamber were laid.They werena weel lyen down,And scarcely fa'n asleep,Whan up and stands she, fair Annie,Just up at Willie's feet.130"Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride,Between ye and the wa';And sae will I o' my winding sheet,That suits me best ava."Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride,135Between ye and the stock;And sae will I o' my black black kist,That has neither key nor lock."Sad Willie raise, put on his claise,Drew till him his hose and shoon,140And he is on to Annie's bower,By the lei light o' the moon.The firsten bower that he came till,There was right dowie wark;Her mither and her three sisters145Were makin' to Annie a sark.The nexten bower that he came till,There was right dowie cheir;Her father and her seven brethrenWere makin' to Annie a bier.150The lasten bower, that he came till,[O heavy was his care!The waxen lights were burning bright,]And fair Annie streekit there.He's lifted up the coverlet,155[Where she, fair Annie, lay;Sweet was her smile, but wan her cheek;O wan, and cald as clay!]"It's I will kiss your bonny cheek,And I will kiss your chin;160And I will kiss your clay-cald lip;But I'll never kiss woman again."The day ye deal at Annie's burialThe bread but and the wine;Before the morn at twall o'clock,165They'll deal the same at mine."The tane was buried in Mary's kirk,The tither in Mary's quire;And out o' the tane there grew a birk,And out o' the tither a brier.170And ay they grew, and ay they drew,Untill they twa did meet;And every ane that past them by,Said, "Thae's been lovers sweet!"
Sweet Willie and fair AnnieSat a' day on a hill;And though they had sitten seven year,They ne'er wad had their fill.
Sweet Willie said a word in haste,5And Annie took it ill:"I winna wed a tocherless maid,Against my parent's will."
"Ye're come o' the rich, Willie,And I'm come o' the poor;10I'm o'er laigh to be your bride,And I winna be your whore."
O Annie she's gane till her bower,And Willie down the den;And he's come till his mither's bower,15By the lei light o' the moon.
"O sleep ye, wake ye, mither?" he says,"Or are ye the bower within?""I sleep richt aft, I wake richt aft;What want ye wi' me, son?20
"Whare hae ye been a' night, Willie?O wow! ye've tarried lang!""I have been courtin' fair Annie,And she is frae me gane.
"There is twa maidens in a bower;25Which o' them sall I bring hame?The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,And fair Annie has nane."
"It's an ye wed the nut-brown maid,I'll heap gold wi' my hand;30But an ye wed her, fair Annie,I'll straik it wi' a wand.
"The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,And fair Annie has nane;And Willie, for my benison,35The nut-brown maid bring hame."
"O I sall wed the nut-brown maid,And I sall bring her hame;But peace nor rest between us twa,Till death sinder's again.40
"But, alas, alas!" says sweet Willie,"O fair is Annie's face!""But what's the matter, my son Willie,She has nae ither grace."
"Alas, alas!" says sweet Willie,45"But white is Annie's hand!""But what's the matter, my son Willie,She hasna a fur o' land."
"Sheep will die in cots, mither,And owsen die in byre;50And what's this warld's wealth to me,An I get na my heart's desire?
"Whare will I get a bonny boy,That wad fain win hose and shoon,That will rin to fair Annie's bower,55Wi' the lei light o' the moon?
"Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin',The morn at twal at noon;Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin',The heir o'Duplin town.60
"She manna put on the black, the black,Nor yet the dowie brown;But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,And her bonny locks hangin' down."
He is on to Annie's bower,65And tirled at the pin;And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel,To open and let him in.
"Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin',The morn at twal at noon;70Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin',The heir of Duplin town.
"Ye manna put on the black, the black,Nor yet the dowie brown;But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,75And your bonny locks hangin' down."
"Its I will come to Willie's weddin',The morn at twal at noon;Its I will come to Willie's weddin',But I rather the mass had been mine.80
"Maidens, to my bower come,And lay gold on my hair;And whare ye laid ae plait before,Ye'll now lay ten times mair.
"Taylors, to my bower come,85And mak to me a weed;And smiths unto my stable come,And shoe to me a steed."
At every tate o' Annie's horse' maneThere hang a silver bell;90And there came a wind out frae the south,Which made them a' to knell.
And whan she came to Mary-kirk,And sat down in the deas,The light, that came frae fair Annie,95Enlighten'd a' the place.
But up and stands the nut-brown bride,Just at her father's knee;"O wha is this, my father dear,That blinks in Willie's e'e?"100"O this is Willie's first true love,Before he loved thee."
"If that be Willie's first true love,He might ha'e latten me be;She has as much gold on ae finger,105As I'll wear till I die.
"O whare got ye that water, Annie,That washes you sae white?""I got it in my mither's wambe,Whare ye'll ne'er get the like.110
"For ye've been wash'd in Dunny's well,And dried on Dunny's dyke;And a' the water in the seaWill never wash ye white."
Willie's ta'en a rose out o' his hat,115Laid it in Annie's lap;"[The bonniest to the bonniest fa's,]Hae, wear it for my sake."
"Tak up and wear your rose, Willie,And wear't wi' mickle care,120For the woman sall never bear a son,That will mak my heart sae sair."
Whan night was come, and day was gane,And a' man boun to bed,Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride125In their chamber were laid.
They werena weel lyen down,And scarcely fa'n asleep,Whan up and stands she, fair Annie,Just up at Willie's feet.130
"Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride,Between ye and the wa';And sae will I o' my winding sheet,That suits me best ava.
"Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride,135Between ye and the stock;And sae will I o' my black black kist,That has neither key nor lock."
Sad Willie raise, put on his claise,Drew till him his hose and shoon,140And he is on to Annie's bower,By the lei light o' the moon.
The firsten bower that he came till,There was right dowie wark;Her mither and her three sisters145Were makin' to Annie a sark.
The nexten bower that he came till,There was right dowie cheir;Her father and her seven brethrenWere makin' to Annie a bier.150
The lasten bower, that he came till,[O heavy was his care!The waxen lights were burning bright,]And fair Annie streekit there.
He's lifted up the coverlet,155[Where she, fair Annie, lay;Sweet was her smile, but wan her cheek;O wan, and cald as clay!]
"It's I will kiss your bonny cheek,And I will kiss your chin;160And I will kiss your clay-cald lip;But I'll never kiss woman again.
"The day ye deal at Annie's burialThe bread but and the wine;Before the morn at twall o'clock,165They'll deal the same at mine."
The tane was buried in Mary's kirk,The tither in Mary's quire;And out o' the tane there grew a birk,And out o' the tither a brier.170
And ay they grew, and ay they drew,Untill they twa did meet;And every ane that past them by,Said, "Thae's been lovers sweet!"
19. That is, my slumbers are short, broken, and interrupted. J.60.Duplin town.Duplin is the seat of the earl of Kinnoul, from which he derives his title of viscount. It is in the neighborhood of Perth. It is observable, that ballads are very frequently adapted to the meridian of the place where they are found. J.
19. That is, my slumbers are short, broken, and interrupted. J.
60.Duplin town.Duplin is the seat of the earl of Kinnoul, from which he derives his title of viscount. It is in the neighborhood of Perth. It is observable, that ballads are very frequently adapted to the meridian of the place where they are found. J.
From Percy'sReliques, iii. 164.
"This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher'sKnight of the Burning Pestle, acts ii. and iii.; although the six lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. Its full title isFair Margaret's misfortunes; or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding night, with the sudden death and burial of those noble lovers.
"The lines preserved in the play are this distich:
"You are no love for me, Margaret,I am no love for you."
"You are no love for me, Margaret,I am no love for you."
Act iii. 5.
And the following stanza:
"When it was grown to dark midnight,And all were fast asleep,In came Margarets grimly ghost,And stood at Williams feet.
"When it was grown to dark midnight,And all were fast asleep,In came Margarets grimly ghost,And stood at Williams feet.
Act ii. 8.
"These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any other language: [Mallet'sMargaret's Ghost.]
"Since the first edition, some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady ofthe first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy."
The variations in Herd's copy, (i. 145,) and in Ritson's (Ancient Songs, ii. 92,) are unimportant.
In the main the same is the widely known ballad,Der Ritter und das Mägdlein, Erk, p. 81, Hoffmann'sSchlesische Volkslieder, p. 9;Herr Malmstens Dröm, Svenska Folkvisor, iii. 104, Arwidsson, ii. 21;Volkslieder der Wenden, by Haupt and Schmaler, i. 159-162 (Hoffmann); in Dutch, with a different close, Hoffmann'sNiederländische Volkslieder, p. 61: alsoLord Lovel,post, p. 162.
As it fell out on a long summer's day,Two lovers they sat on a hill;They sat together that long summer's day,And could not talk their fill."I see no harm by you, Margaret,5And you see none by mee;Before to-morrow at eight o' the clockA rich wedding you shall see."Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,Combing her yellow hair;10There she spyed sweet William and his bride,As they were a riding near.Then down she layd her ivory combe,And braided her hair in twain:She went alive out of her bower,15But ne'er came alive in't again.When day was gone, and night was come,And all men fast asleep,Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,And stood at Williams feet.20"Are you awake, sweet William?" shee said,"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,And me of my winding-sheet."When day was come, and night 'twas gone,25And all men wak'd from sleep,Sweet William to his lady sayd,"My dear, I have cause to weep."I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye,Such dreames are never good:30I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,And my bride-bed full of blood.""Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,They never do prove good;To dream thy bower was full of red swine,35And thy bride-bed full of blood."He called up his merry men all,By one, by two, and by three;Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,By the leave of my ladie."40And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,He knocked at the ring;And who so ready as her seven brethren,To let sweet William in.Then he turned up the covering-sheet;45"Pray let me see the dead;Methinks she looks all pale and wan,She hath lost her cherry red."I'll do more for thee, Margaret,Than any of thy kin:50For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,Though a smile I cannot win."With that bespake the seven brethren,Making most piteous mone,"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,55And let our sister alone.""If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,I do but what is right;I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse,By day, nor yet by night.60"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,Deal on your cake and your wine:For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,65Sweet William dyed the morrow:Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,Sweet William dyed for sorrow.Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel,And William in the higher:70Out of her brest there sprang a rose,And out of his a briar.They grew till they grew unto the church top,And then they could grow no higher;And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,75Which made all the people admire.Then came the clerk of the parish,As you the truth shall hear,And by misfortune cut them down,Or they had now been there.80
As it fell out on a long summer's day,Two lovers they sat on a hill;They sat together that long summer's day,And could not talk their fill.
"I see no harm by you, Margaret,5And you see none by mee;Before to-morrow at eight o' the clockA rich wedding you shall see."
Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,Combing her yellow hair;10There she spyed sweet William and his bride,As they were a riding near.
Then down she layd her ivory combe,And braided her hair in twain:She went alive out of her bower,15But ne'er came alive in't again.
When day was gone, and night was come,And all men fast asleep,Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,And stood at Williams feet.20
"Are you awake, sweet William?" shee said,"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,And me of my winding-sheet."
When day was come, and night 'twas gone,25And all men wak'd from sleep,Sweet William to his lady sayd,"My dear, I have cause to weep.
"I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye,Such dreames are never good:30I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,And my bride-bed full of blood."
"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,They never do prove good;To dream thy bower was full of red swine,35And thy bride-bed full of blood."
He called up his merry men all,By one, by two, and by three;Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,By the leave of my ladie."40
And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,He knocked at the ring;And who so ready as her seven brethren,To let sweet William in.
Then he turned up the covering-sheet;45"Pray let me see the dead;Methinks she looks all pale and wan,She hath lost her cherry red.
"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,Than any of thy kin:50For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,Though a smile I cannot win."
With that bespake the seven brethren,Making most piteous mone,"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,55And let our sister alone."
"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,I do but what is right;I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse,By day, nor yet by night.60
"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,Deal on your cake and your wine:For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."
Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,65Sweet William dyed the morrow:Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel,And William in the higher:70Out of her brest there sprang a rose,And out of his a briar.
They grew till they grew unto the church top,And then they could grow no higher;And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,75Which made all the people admire.
Then came the clerk of the parish,As you the truth shall hear,And by misfortune cut them down,Or they had now been there.80
21-24.God give you joy, you lovers true,In bride-bed fast asleep;Lo! I am going to my green-grass grave,And I'm in my winding sheet.Herd'scopy.62. Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. P.
21-24.
God give you joy, you lovers true,In bride-bed fast asleep;Lo! I am going to my green-grass grave,And I'm in my winding sheet.
God give you joy, you lovers true,In bride-bed fast asleep;Lo! I am going to my green-grass grave,And I'm in my winding sheet.
Herd'scopy.
62. Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. P.
As already remarked, is often made the sequel to other ballads. (SeeClerk Saunders, p. 45.) It was first printed in the fourth volume of Ramsay'sTea Table Miscellany, with some imperfections, and with two spurious stanzas for a conclusion. We subjoin to Ramsay's copy the admirable version obtained by Motherwell from recitation, and still another variation furnished by Kinloch.
Closely similar in many respects are the DanishFæstemanden i Graven (Aage og Else), Grundtvig, No. 90, and the SwedishSorgens Magt,Svenska F. V., i. 29, ii. 204, or Arwidsson, ii. 103. AlsoDer Todte Freier, Erk'sLiederhort, 24, 24 a. In the Danish and Swedish ballads it is the uncontrolled grief of his mistress that calls the lover from his grave: in the English, the desire to be freed from his troth-plight.—See vol. i. p. 213, 217.
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,With many a grievous groan,And ay he tirled at the pin,But answer made she none."Is that my father Philip,Or is't my brother John?Or is't my true love Willy,From Scotland new come home?""Tis not thy father Philip,Nor yet thy brother John;10But 'tis thy true love Willy,From Scotland new come home."O sweet Margaret! O dear Margaret!I pray thee speak to mee:Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,15As I gave it to thee.""Thy faith and troth thou's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,Till that thou come within my bower,And kiss my cheek and chin."20"If I should come within thy bower,I am no earthly man:And should I kiss thy rosy lips,Thy days will not be lang."O sweet Margaret, O dear Margaret,25I pray thee speak to mee:Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,As I gave it to thee.""Thy faith and troth thou's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,30Till you take me to yon kirk-yard,And wed me with a ring.""My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,Afar beyond the sea,And it is but my spirit, Margaret,35That's now speaking to thee."She stretched out her lily-white hand,And for to do her best;"Haethereyour faith and troth, Willy,God send your soul good rest."40Now she has kilted her robes of greenA piece below her knee,And a' the live-lang winter nightThe dead corps followed she."Is there any room at your head, Willy,45Or any room at your feet?Or any room at your side, Willy,Wherein that I may creep?""There's no room at my head, Margaret,There's no room at my feet;50There's no room at my side, Margaret,My coffin's made so meet."Then up and crew the red red cock,And up then crew the gray:"Tis time, tis time, my dear Margaret,55That you were going away."No more the ghost to Margaret said,But, with a grievous groan,Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,And left her all alone.60"O stay, my only true love, stay,"The constant Margaret cried:Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her een,Stretch'd her soft limbs, and died.
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,With many a grievous groan,And ay he tirled at the pin,But answer made she none.
"Is that my father Philip,Or is't my brother John?Or is't my true love Willy,From Scotland new come home?"
"Tis not thy father Philip,Nor yet thy brother John;10But 'tis thy true love Willy,From Scotland new come home.
"O sweet Margaret! O dear Margaret!I pray thee speak to mee:Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,15As I gave it to thee."
"Thy faith and troth thou's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,Till that thou come within my bower,And kiss my cheek and chin."20
"If I should come within thy bower,I am no earthly man:And should I kiss thy rosy lips,Thy days will not be lang.
"O sweet Margaret, O dear Margaret,25I pray thee speak to mee:Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,As I gave it to thee."
"Thy faith and troth thou's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,30Till you take me to yon kirk-yard,And wed me with a ring."
"My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,Afar beyond the sea,And it is but my spirit, Margaret,35That's now speaking to thee."
She stretched out her lily-white hand,And for to do her best;"Haethereyour faith and troth, Willy,God send your soul good rest."40
Now she has kilted her robes of greenA piece below her knee,And a' the live-lang winter nightThe dead corps followed she.
"Is there any room at your head, Willy,45Or any room at your feet?Or any room at your side, Willy,Wherein that I may creep?"
"There's no room at my head, Margaret,There's no room at my feet;50There's no room at my side, Margaret,My coffin's made so meet."
Then up and crew the red red cock,And up then crew the gray:"Tis time, tis time, my dear Margaret,55That you were going away."
No more the ghost to Margaret said,But, with a grievous groan,Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,And left her all alone.60
"O stay, my only true love, stay,"The constant Margaret cried:Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her een,Stretch'd her soft limbs, and died.
39. ther's.
39. ther's.
Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. 186.
Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,Sat sewing her silken seam,And by her came a pale, pale ghost,Wi' mony a sigh and mane."Are ye my father the king?" she says,5"Or are ye my brither John?Or are ye my true love, sweet William,From England newly come?""I'm not your father the king," he says,"No, no, nor your brither John;10But I'm your true love, sweet William,From England that's newly come.""Have ye brought me any scarlets sae red,Or any of the silks sae fine;Or have ye brought me any precious things,15That merchants have for sale?""I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,No, no, nor the silks sae fine;But I have brought you my winding-sheetOwer many a rock and hill.20"Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,For faith and charitie,Will ye gie to me my faith and troth,That I gave once to thee?""O your faith and troth I'll not gie to thee,25No, no, that will not I,Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips,And in my arms you lye.""My lips they are sae bitter," he says,"My breath it is sae strang,30If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips,Your days will not be lang."The cocks are crawing, Marjorie," he says,—"The cocks are crawing again;It's time the dead should part the quick,—35Marjorie, I must be gane."She followed him high, she followed him low,Till she came to yon churchyard green;And there the deep grave opened up,And young William he lay down.40"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,"That stand here at your head?""O it's three maidens, Marjorie," he says,"That I promised once to wed.""What three things are these, sweet William," she says,45"That stand close at your side?""O it's three babes, Marjorie," he says,"That these three maidens had.""What three things are these, sweet William," she says,"That lye close at your feet?"50"O it's three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says,"That's waiting my soul to keep."O she took up her white, white hand,And she struck him on the breast,Saying,—"Have there again your faith and troth,55And I wish your saul gude rest."
Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,Sat sewing her silken seam,And by her came a pale, pale ghost,Wi' mony a sigh and mane.
"Are ye my father the king?" she says,5"Or are ye my brither John?Or are ye my true love, sweet William,From England newly come?"
"I'm not your father the king," he says,"No, no, nor your brither John;10But I'm your true love, sweet William,From England that's newly come."
"Have ye brought me any scarlets sae red,Or any of the silks sae fine;Or have ye brought me any precious things,15That merchants have for sale?"
"I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,No, no, nor the silks sae fine;But I have brought you my winding-sheetOwer many a rock and hill.20
"Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,For faith and charitie,Will ye gie to me my faith and troth,That I gave once to thee?"
"O your faith and troth I'll not gie to thee,25No, no, that will not I,Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips,And in my arms you lye."
"My lips they are sae bitter," he says,"My breath it is sae strang,30If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips,Your days will not be lang.
"The cocks are crawing, Marjorie," he says,—"The cocks are crawing again;It's time the dead should part the quick,—35Marjorie, I must be gane."
She followed him high, she followed him low,Till she came to yon churchyard green;And there the deep grave opened up,And young William he lay down.40
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,"That stand here at your head?""O it's three maidens, Marjorie," he says,"That I promised once to wed."
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,45"That stand close at your side?""O it's three babes, Marjorie," he says,"That these three maidens had."
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,"That lye close at your feet?"50"O it's three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says,"That's waiting my soul to keep."
O she took up her white, white hand,And she struck him on the breast,Saying,—"Have there again your faith and troth,55And I wish your saul gude rest."
Kinloch'sAncient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.
As May Marg'ret sat in her bouerie,In her bouer all alone,At the very parting o' midnicht,She heard a mournfu' moan."O is it my father, O is it my mother,5Or is it my brother John?Or is it sweet William, my ain true love,To Scotland new come home?""It is na your father, it is na your mother,It is na your brother John;10But it is sweet William, your ain true love,To Scotland new come home."—"Hae ye brought me onie fine things,Onie new thing for to wear?Or hae ye brought me a braid o' lace,15To snood up my gowden hair?""I've brought ye na fine things at all,Nor onie new thing to wear,Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace,To snood up your gowden hair.20"But Margaret, dear Margaret,I pray ye speak to me;O gie me back my faith and troth,As dear as I gied it thee!""Your faith and troth ye sanna get,25Nor will I wi' ye twin,Till ye come within my bower,And kiss me, cheek and chin.""O Margaret, dear Margaret,I pray ye speak to me;30O gie me back my faith and troth,As dear as I gied it thee.""Your faith and troth ye sanna get,Nor will I wi' ye twin,Till ye tak me to yonder kirk,35And wed me wi' a ring.""O should I come within your bouer,I am na earthly man:If I should kiss your red, red lips,Your days wad na be lang.40"My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard,It's far ayont the sea;And it is my spirit, Margaret,That's speaking unto thee.""Your faith and troth ye sanna get,45Nor will I twin wi' thee,Tell ye tell me the pleasures o' Heaven,And pains of hell how they be.""The pleasures of heaven I wat not of,But the pains of hell I dree;50There some are hie hang'd for huring,And some for adulterie."Then Marg'ret took her milk-white hand,And smooth'd it on his breast;—"Tak your faith and troth, William,55God send your soul good rest!"
As May Marg'ret sat in her bouerie,In her bouer all alone,At the very parting o' midnicht,She heard a mournfu' moan.
"O is it my father, O is it my mother,5Or is it my brother John?Or is it sweet William, my ain true love,To Scotland new come home?"
"It is na your father, it is na your mother,It is na your brother John;10But it is sweet William, your ain true love,To Scotland new come home."—
"Hae ye brought me onie fine things,Onie new thing for to wear?Or hae ye brought me a braid o' lace,15To snood up my gowden hair?"
"I've brought ye na fine things at all,Nor onie new thing to wear,Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace,To snood up your gowden hair.20
"But Margaret, dear Margaret,I pray ye speak to me;O gie me back my faith and troth,As dear as I gied it thee!"
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get,25Nor will I wi' ye twin,Till ye come within my bower,And kiss me, cheek and chin."
"O Margaret, dear Margaret,I pray ye speak to me;30O gie me back my faith and troth,As dear as I gied it thee."
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get,Nor will I wi' ye twin,Till ye tak me to yonder kirk,35And wed me wi' a ring."
"O should I come within your bouer,I am na earthly man:If I should kiss your red, red lips,Your days wad na be lang.40
"My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard,It's far ayont the sea;And it is my spirit, Margaret,That's speaking unto thee."
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get,45Nor will I twin wi' thee,Tell ye tell me the pleasures o' Heaven,And pains of hell how they be."
"The pleasures of heaven I wat not of,But the pains of hell I dree;50There some are hie hang'd for huring,And some for adulterie."
Then Marg'ret took her milk-white hand,And smooth'd it on his breast;—"Tak your faith and troth, William,55God send your soul good rest!"
Was first published in Ramsay'sTea-Table Miscellany, (ii. 171,) from which it is transferred verbatim into Herd'sScottish Songs, Johnson'sMuseum, Ritson'sScottish Songs, &c. Percy printed it, "with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy,"Reliques, iii. 175, together with another version, which follows the present. Mr. G. F. Graham,Songs of Scotland, ii. 157, has pointed out an allusion to the "little Scotch Song ofBarbary Allen," in Pepys'sDiary, 2 Jan. 1665-6.
It was in and about the Martinmas time,When the green leaves were a falling,That Sir John Graeme in the west countryFell in love with Barbara Allan.He sent his man down through the town,5To the place where she was dwelling;"O haste and come to my master dear,Gin ye be Barbara Allan."O hooly, hooly rose she up,To the place where he was lying,10And when she drew the curtain by,"Young man, I think you're dying.""O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:""O the better for me ye's never be,15Tho' your heart's blood were a spilling."O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,"When ye was in the tavern a drinking,That ye made the healths gae round and round,And slighted Barbara Allan."20He turn'd his face unto the wall,And death was with him dealing;"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,And be kind to Barbara Allan."And slowly, slowly raise she up,25And slowly, slowly left him;And sighing said, she cou'd not stay,Since death of life had reft him.She had not gane a mile but twa,When she heard the dead-bell ringing,30And every jow that the dead-bell geid,It cry'd "Woe to Barbara Allan!""O mother, mother, make my bed,O make it saft and narrow;Since my love died for me today,35I'll die for him tomorrow."
It was in and about the Martinmas time,When the green leaves were a falling,That Sir John Graeme in the west countryFell in love with Barbara Allan.
He sent his man down through the town,5To the place where she was dwelling;"O haste and come to my master dear,Gin ye be Barbara Allan."
O hooly, hooly rose she up,To the place where he was lying,10And when she drew the curtain by,"Young man, I think you're dying."
"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:""O the better for me ye's never be,15Tho' your heart's blood were a spilling.
"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,"When ye was in the tavern a drinking,That ye made the healths gae round and round,And slighted Barbara Allan."20
He turn'd his face unto the wall,And death was with him dealing;"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,And be kind to Barbara Allan."
And slowly, slowly raise she up,25And slowly, slowly left him;And sighing said, she cou'd not stay,Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,When she heard the dead-bell ringing,30And every jow that the dead-bell geid,It cry'd "Woe to Barbara Allan!"
"O mother, mother, make my bed,O make it saft and narrow;Since my love died for me today,35I'll die for him tomorrow."
From Percy'sReliques, iii. 169.
"Given, with some corrections, from an old blackletter copy, entitled,Barbara Allen's Cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy."
In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,There was a faire maid dwellin,Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!Her name was Barbara Allen.All in the merrye month of May,5When greene buds they were swellin,Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,For love of Barbara Allen.He sent his man unto her then,To the towne where shee was dwellin;10"You must come to my master deare,Giff your name be Barbara Allen."For death is printed on his face,And ore his hart is stealin:Then haste away to comfort him,15O lovelye Barbara Allen.""Though death be printed on his face,And ore his harte is stealin,Yet little better shall he beeFor bonny Barbara Allen."20So slowly, slowly, she came up,And slowly she came nye him;And all she sayd, when there she came,"Yong man, I think y'are dying."He turned his face unto her strait,25With deadlye sorrow sighing;"O lovely maid, come pity mee,I'me on my death-bed lying.""If on your death-bed you doe lye,What needs the tale you are tellin?30I cannot keep you from your death;Farewell," sayd Barbara Allen.He turnd his face unto the wall,As deadlye pangs he fell in:"Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,35Adieu to Barbara Allen!"As she was walking ore the fields,She heard the bell a knellin;And every stroke did seem to saye,"Unworthy Barbara Allen!"40She turnd her bodye round about,And spied the corps a coming:"Laye down, laye down the corps," she sayd,"That I may look upon him."With scornful eye she looked downe,45Her cheeke with laughter swellin,Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,"Unworthye Barbara Allen!"When he was dead, and laid in grave,Her harte was struck with sorrowe;50"O mother, mother, make my bed,For I shall dye to-morrowe."Hard-harted creature him to slight,Who loved me so dearlye:O that I had beene more kind to him,55When he was alive and neare me!"She, on her death-bed as she laye,Beg'd to be buried by him,And sore repented of the daye,That she did ere denye him.60"Farewell," she sayd, "ye virgins all,And shun the fault I fell in:Henceforth take warning by the fallOf cruel Barbara Allen."
In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,There was a faire maid dwellin,Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merrye month of May,5When greene buds they were swellin,Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,To the towne where shee was dwellin;10"You must come to my master deare,Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
"For death is printed on his face,And ore his hart is stealin:Then haste away to comfort him,15O lovelye Barbara Allen."
"Though death be printed on his face,And ore his harte is stealin,Yet little better shall he beeFor bonny Barbara Allen."20
So slowly, slowly, she came up,And slowly she came nye him;And all she sayd, when there she came,"Yong man, I think y'are dying."
He turned his face unto her strait,25With deadlye sorrow sighing;"O lovely maid, come pity mee,I'me on my death-bed lying."
"If on your death-bed you doe lye,What needs the tale you are tellin?30I cannot keep you from your death;Farewell," sayd Barbara Allen.
He turnd his face unto the wall,As deadlye pangs he fell in:"Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,35Adieu to Barbara Allen!"
As she was walking ore the fields,She heard the bell a knellin;And every stroke did seem to saye,"Unworthy Barbara Allen!"40
She turnd her bodye round about,And spied the corps a coming:"Laye down, laye down the corps," she sayd,"That I may look upon him."
With scornful eye she looked downe,45Her cheeke with laughter swellin,Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,"Unworthye Barbara Allen!"
When he was dead, and laid in grave,Her harte was struck with sorrowe;50"O mother, mother, make my bed,For I shall dye to-morrowe.
"Hard-harted creature him to slight,Who loved me so dearlye:O that I had beene more kind to him,55When he was alive and neare me!"
She, on her death-bed as she laye,Beg'd to be buried by him,And sore repented of the daye,That she did ere denye him.60
"Farewell," she sayd, "ye virgins all,And shun the fault I fell in:Henceforth take warning by the fallOf cruel Barbara Allen."
"This ballad, taken down from the recitation of a lady in Roxburghshire, appears to claim affinity to Border Song; and the title of the 'discourteous squire,' would incline one to suppose that it has derived its origin from some circumstance connected with the county of Northumberland, where Lovel was anciently a well-known name." Kinloch'sAncient Scottish Ballads, p. 31.
A version from a recent broadside is printed inAncient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, Percy Society, vol. xvii. p. 78.
A fragment of a similar story, the relations of the parties being reversed, isLady Alice, given in Bell's Ballads of the Peasantry, p. 127, andNotes and Queries, 2d S, i. 418.—Compare alsoFair Margaret, &c. p. 140.