The Laird o' Drum is a wooing gane,It was on a morning early,And he has fawn in wi' a bonnie mayA-shearing at her barley."My bonnie may, my weel-faur'd may,5O will ye fancy me, O;And gae and be the lady o' Drum,And lat your shearing abee, O?""It's I canna fancy thee, kind sir,I winna fancy thee, O,10I winna gae and be Lady o' Drum,And lat my shearing abee, O."But set your love on anither, kind sir,Set it not on me, O,For I am not fit to be your bride,15And your hure I'll never be, O."My father he is a shepherd mean,Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O,And ye may gae and speir at him,For I am at his will, O."20Drum is to her father gane,Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O;And he has gotten his consentThat the may was at his will, O."But my dochter can neither read nor write,25She was ne'er brought up at scheel, O;But weel can she milk cow and ewe,And mak a kebbuck weel, O."She'll win in your barn at bear-seed time,Cast out your muck at Yule, O,30She'll saddle your steed in time o' need,And draw aff your boots hersell, O.""Have not I no clergymen?Pay I no clergy fee, O?I'll scheel her as I think fit,35And as I think weel to be, O."I'll learn your lassie to read and write,And I'll put her to the scheel, O;She'll neither need to saddle my steed,Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O.40"But wha will bake my bridal bread,Or brew my bridal ale, O;And wha will welcome my bonnie bride,Is mair than I can tell, O."Drum is to the hielands gane,45For to mak a' ready,And a' the gentry round about,Cried, "Yonder's Drum and his lady!"Peggy Coutts is a very bonnie bride,And Drum is a wealthy laddie,50But he micht hae chosen a hier match,Than onie shepherd's lassie."Then up bespak his brither John,Says, "Ye've deen us meikle wrang, O;Ye've married een below our degree,55A lake to a' our kin, O.""Hold your tongue, my brither John,I have deen you na wrang, O;For I've married een to wirk and win,And ye've married een to spend, O.60"The first time that I had a wife,She was far abeen my degree, O;I durst na come in her presence,But wi' my hat upo' my knee, O."The first wife that I did wed,65She was far abeen my degree, O;She wadna hae walk'd to the yetts o' Drum,But the pearls abeen her bree, O."But an she was ador'd for as much gold,As Peggy's for beautie, O,70She micht walk to the yetts o' Drum,Amang gueed companie, O."There war four and twenty gentlemenStood at the yetts o' Drum, O;There was na ane amang them a'75That welcom'd his lady in, O.He has tane her by the milk-white hand,And led her in himsel, O,And in thro' ha's, and in thro' bouers,—"And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O."80Thrice he kissed her cherry cheek,And thrice her cherry chin, O;And twenty times her comely mou',—"And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O."Ye sall be cook in my kitchen,85Butler in my ha', O;Ye sall be lady in my command,Whan I ride far awa, O."—"But I told ye afore we war wed,I was owre low for thee, O;90But now we are wed, and in ae bed laid,And ye maun be content wi' me, O."For an I war dead, and ye war dead,And baith in ae grave laid, O,And ye and I war tane up again,95Wha could distan your mouls frae mine, O?"
The Laird o' Drum is a wooing gane,It was on a morning early,And he has fawn in wi' a bonnie mayA-shearing at her barley.
"My bonnie may, my weel-faur'd may,5O will ye fancy me, O;And gae and be the lady o' Drum,And lat your shearing abee, O?"
"It's I canna fancy thee, kind sir,I winna fancy thee, O,10I winna gae and be Lady o' Drum,And lat my shearing abee, O.
"But set your love on anither, kind sir,Set it not on me, O,For I am not fit to be your bride,15And your hure I'll never be, O.
"My father he is a shepherd mean,Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O,And ye may gae and speir at him,For I am at his will, O."20
Drum is to her father gane,Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O;And he has gotten his consentThat the may was at his will, O.
"But my dochter can neither read nor write,25She was ne'er brought up at scheel, O;But weel can she milk cow and ewe,And mak a kebbuck weel, O.
"She'll win in your barn at bear-seed time,Cast out your muck at Yule, O,30She'll saddle your steed in time o' need,And draw aff your boots hersell, O."
"Have not I no clergymen?Pay I no clergy fee, O?I'll scheel her as I think fit,35And as I think weel to be, O.
"I'll learn your lassie to read and write,And I'll put her to the scheel, O;She'll neither need to saddle my steed,Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O.40
"But wha will bake my bridal bread,Or brew my bridal ale, O;And wha will welcome my bonnie bride,Is mair than I can tell, O."
Drum is to the hielands gane,45For to mak a' ready,And a' the gentry round about,Cried, "Yonder's Drum and his lady!
"Peggy Coutts is a very bonnie bride,And Drum is a wealthy laddie,50But he micht hae chosen a hier match,Than onie shepherd's lassie."
Then up bespak his brither John,Says, "Ye've deen us meikle wrang, O;Ye've married een below our degree,55A lake to a' our kin, O."
"Hold your tongue, my brither John,I have deen you na wrang, O;For I've married een to wirk and win,And ye've married een to spend, O.60
"The first time that I had a wife,She was far abeen my degree, O;I durst na come in her presence,But wi' my hat upo' my knee, O.
"The first wife that I did wed,65She was far abeen my degree, O;She wadna hae walk'd to the yetts o' Drum,But the pearls abeen her bree, O.
"But an she was ador'd for as much gold,As Peggy's for beautie, O,70She micht walk to the yetts o' Drum,Amang gueed companie, O."
There war four and twenty gentlemenStood at the yetts o' Drum, O;There was na ane amang them a'75That welcom'd his lady in, O.
He has tane her by the milk-white hand,And led her in himsel, O,And in thro' ha's, and in thro' bouers,—"And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O."80
Thrice he kissed her cherry cheek,And thrice her cherry chin, O;And twenty times her comely mou',—"And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O.
"Ye sall be cook in my kitchen,85Butler in my ha', O;Ye sall be lady in my command,Whan I ride far awa, O."—
"But I told ye afore we war wed,I was owre low for thee, O;90But now we are wed, and in ae bed laid,And ye maun be content wi' me, O.
"For an I war dead, and ye war dead,And baith in ae grave laid, O,And ye and I war tane up again,95Wha could distan your mouls frae mine, O?"
The unhappy lady into whose mouth some unknown poet has put this lament, is now ascertained to have been Anne, daughter to Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney. Her faithless lover was her cousin, Alexander Erskine, son to the Earl of Mar. Lady Anne is said to have possessed great beauty, and Sir Alexander was reputed the handsomest man of his age. He was first a colonel in the French army, but afterwards engaged in the service of the Covenanters, and came to his death by being blown up, with many other persons of rank, in Douglass Castle, on the 30th of August, 1640. The events which occasioned the ballad seem to have taken place early in the seventeenth century. Of the fate of the lady subsequent to this period nothing is known. See Chambers,Scottish Ballads, p. 150, andThe Scots Musical Museum, (1853,) iv. 203*.
In Brome's comedy ofThe Northern Lass, or the Nest of Fools, acted in 1632, occur the two following stanzas. They are, perhaps, a part of the original Lament, which certainly has undergone great alterations in its progress down to our times.
"Peace, wayward barne! Oh cease thy moan!Thy farre more wayward daddy's gone,And never will recalled be,By cryes of either thee or me:For should wee cryUntil we dye,Wee could not scant his cruelty.Ballow, ballow, &c.
"Peace, wayward barne! Oh cease thy moan!Thy farre more wayward daddy's gone,And never will recalled be,By cryes of either thee or me:For should wee cryUntil we dye,Wee could not scant his cruelty.Ballow, ballow, &c.
"He needs might in himselfe foreseeWhat thou successively might'st be;And could hee then (though me foregoe)His infant leave, ere hee did knowHow like the dadWould be the lad,In time to make fond maydens glad?Ballow, ballow, &c."
"He needs might in himselfe foreseeWhat thou successively might'st be;And could hee then (though me foregoe)His infant leave, ere hee did knowHow like the dadWould be the lad,In time to make fond maydens glad?Ballow, ballow, &c."
The first professed edition of this piece is in the Third Part of Watson'sCollection of Comic and Serious Scots Poems, p. 79; the next in theTea-Table Miscellany, i. 161. Both of these copies have been modernized, but Ramsay's is the better of the two, and equally authentic. We therefore select Ramsay's, and add to itPercy's, which contains three stanzas not found in the others, and preserves somewhat more of the air of antiquity. There is a version extending to fifteen stanzas, arranged in a very different order, in Evans'sOld Ballads, i. 259. Herd, Ritson, &c., have followed Ramsay.
Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,It grieves me sore to hear thee weep:If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad,Thy mourning makes my heart full sad.Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy,5Thy father bred me great annoy.Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.Balow, my darling, sleep a while,And when thou wak'st, then sweetly smile;10But smile not as thy father did,To cozen maids, nay, God forbid;For in thine eye his look I see,The tempting look that ruin'd me,Balow, my boy, &c.15When he began to court my love,And with his sugar'd words to move,His tempting face, and flatt'ring chearIn time to me did not appear;But now I see that cruel he20Cares neither for his babe nor me.Balow, my boy, &c.Fareweel, fareweel, thou falsest youthThat ever kist a woman's mouth;Let never any after me25Submit unto thy courtesy!For, if they do, O! cruel thouWilt her abuse, and care not how.Balow, my boy, &c.I was too cred'lous at the first,30To yield thee all a maiden durst;Thou swore for ever true to prove,Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love;But quick as thought the change is wrought,Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought.35Balow, my boy, &c.I wish I were a maid again!From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain;For now unto my grief I findThey all are perjur'd and unkind;40Bewitching charms bred all my harms;—Witness my babe lies in my arms.Balow, my boy, &c.I take my fate from bad to worse,That I must needs be now a nurse,45And lull my young son on my lap:From me, sweet orphan, take the pap.Balow, my child, thy mother mildShall wail as from all bliss exil'd.Balow, my boy, &c.50Balow, my boy, weep not for me,Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee;Nor pity her deserved smart,Who can blame none but her fond heart;For, too soon trusting latest finds55With fairest tongues are falsest minds.Balow, my boy, &c.Balow, my boy, thy father's fled,When he the thriftless son has played;Of vows and oaths forgetful, he60Preferr'd the wars to thee and me.But now, perhaps, thy curse and mineMake him eat acorns with the swine.Balow, my boy, &c.But curse not him; perhaps now he,65Stung with remorse, is blessing thee:Perhaps at death; for who can tell,Whether the judge of heaven or hell,By some proud foe has struck the blow,And laid the dear deceiver low?70Balow, my boy, &c.I wish I were into the boundsWhere he lies smother'd in his wounds,Repeating, as he pants for air,My name, whom once he call'd his fair;75No woman's yet so fiercely set,But she'll forgive, though not forget.Balow, my boy, &c.If linen lacks, for my love's sake,Then quickly to him would I make80My smock, once for his body meet,And wrap him in that winding-sheetAh me! how happy had I been,If he had ne'er been wrapt therein.Balow, my boy, &c.Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee:85Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me:Thy griefs are growing to a sum,God grant thee patience when they come;Born to sustain thy mother's shame,A hapless fate, a bastard's name.90Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.
Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,It grieves me sore to hear thee weep:If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad,Thy mourning makes my heart full sad.Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy,5Thy father bred me great annoy.Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.
Balow, my darling, sleep a while,And when thou wak'st, then sweetly smile;10But smile not as thy father did,To cozen maids, nay, God forbid;For in thine eye his look I see,The tempting look that ruin'd me,Balow, my boy, &c.15
When he began to court my love,And with his sugar'd words to move,His tempting face, and flatt'ring chearIn time to me did not appear;But now I see that cruel he20Cares neither for his babe nor me.Balow, my boy, &c.
Fareweel, fareweel, thou falsest youthThat ever kist a woman's mouth;Let never any after me25Submit unto thy courtesy!For, if they do, O! cruel thouWilt her abuse, and care not how.Balow, my boy, &c.
I was too cred'lous at the first,30To yield thee all a maiden durst;Thou swore for ever true to prove,Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love;But quick as thought the change is wrought,Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought.35Balow, my boy, &c.
I wish I were a maid again!From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain;For now unto my grief I findThey all are perjur'd and unkind;40Bewitching charms bred all my harms;—Witness my babe lies in my arms.Balow, my boy, &c.
I take my fate from bad to worse,That I must needs be now a nurse,45And lull my young son on my lap:From me, sweet orphan, take the pap.Balow, my child, thy mother mildShall wail as from all bliss exil'd.Balow, my boy, &c.50
Balow, my boy, weep not for me,Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee;Nor pity her deserved smart,Who can blame none but her fond heart;For, too soon trusting latest finds55With fairest tongues are falsest minds.Balow, my boy, &c.
Balow, my boy, thy father's fled,When he the thriftless son has played;Of vows and oaths forgetful, he60Preferr'd the wars to thee and me.But now, perhaps, thy curse and mineMake him eat acorns with the swine.Balow, my boy, &c.
But curse not him; perhaps now he,65Stung with remorse, is blessing thee:Perhaps at death; for who can tell,Whether the judge of heaven or hell,By some proud foe has struck the blow,And laid the dear deceiver low?70Balow, my boy, &c.
I wish I were into the boundsWhere he lies smother'd in his wounds,Repeating, as he pants for air,My name, whom once he call'd his fair;75No woman's yet so fiercely set,But she'll forgive, though not forget.Balow, my boy, &c.
If linen lacks, for my love's sake,Then quickly to him would I make80My smock, once for his body meet,And wrap him in that winding-sheetAh me! how happy had I been,If he had ne'er been wrapt therein.Balow, my boy, &c.
Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee:85Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me:Thy griefs are growing to a sum,God grant thee patience when they come;Born to sustain thy mother's shame,A hapless fate, a bastard's name.90Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.
From Percy'sReliques, ii. 207.
"From a copy in the Editor's folio MS., corrected by another in Allan Ramsay'sMiscellany."
Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe!It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy,5Thy father breides me great annoy.Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,It grieves me sair to see thee weepe.Whan he began to court my luve,And with his sugred wordes to muve,10His faynings fals and flattering cheireTo me that time did not appeire:But now I see, most cruell heeCares neither for my babe nor mee.Balow, &c.15Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,And when thou wakest, sweitly smile:But smile not, as thy father did,To cozen maids; nay, God forbid!But yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire20Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.Balow, &c.I cannae chuse, but ever willBe luving to thy father still:Whaireir he gae, whaireir he ryde,25My luve with him doth still abyde:In weil or wae, whaireir he gae,Mine hart can neire depart him frae.Balow, &c.But doe not, doe not, pretty mine,30To faynings fals thine hart incline;Be loyal to thy luver trew,And nevir change her for a new:If gude or faire, of hir have care,For womens banning 's wonderous sair.35Balow, &c.Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;My babe and I'll together live,He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve:My babe and I right saft will ly,40And quite forgeit man's cruelty.Balow, &c.Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,That evir kist a womans mouth!45I wish all maides be warned by meeNevir to trust mans curtesy;For if we doe bot chance to bow,They'll use us then they care not how.Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.50
Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe!It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy,5Thy father breides me great annoy.Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,It grieves me sair to see thee weepe.
Whan he began to court my luve,And with his sugred wordes to muve,10His faynings fals and flattering cheireTo me that time did not appeire:But now I see, most cruell heeCares neither for my babe nor mee.Balow, &c.15
Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,And when thou wakest, sweitly smile:But smile not, as thy father did,To cozen maids; nay, God forbid!But yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire20Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.Balow, &c.
I cannae chuse, but ever willBe luving to thy father still:Whaireir he gae, whaireir he ryde,25My luve with him doth still abyde:In weil or wae, whaireir he gae,Mine hart can neire depart him frae.Balow, &c.
But doe not, doe not, pretty mine,30To faynings fals thine hart incline;Be loyal to thy luver trew,And nevir change her for a new:If gude or faire, of hir have care,For womens banning 's wonderous sair.35Balow, &c.
Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;My babe and I'll together live,He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve:My babe and I right saft will ly,40And quite forgeit man's cruelty.Balow, &c.
Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,That evir kist a womans mouth!45I wish all maides be warned by meeNevir to trust mans curtesy;For if we doe bot chance to bow,They'll use us then they care not how.Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.50
These beautiful verses are thought to be only a part ofLord Jamie Douglas, (see the next piece,) in one copy or another of which, according to Motherwell, nearly all of them are to be found. They were first published in theTea-Table Miscellany, (i. 231,) and are here given as they there appear, separate from an explicit story. Although in this condition they must be looked upon as a fragment, still, they are too awkwardly introduced in the ballad above mentioned, and too superior to the rest of the composition, to allow of our believing that they have as yet found their proper connection.
In Johnson'sMuseum, (i. 166,) besides several trifling variations from Ramsay's copy, the fourth is replaced by the following:
When cockle shells turn siller bells,And mussels grow on every tree,When frost and snaw shall warm us a',Then shall my love prove true to me.
When cockle shells turn siller bells,And mussels grow on every tree,When frost and snaw shall warm us a',Then shall my love prove true to me.
The third stanza stands thus in a Christmas medley,quoted by Leyden from a "MS. Cantus of the latter part of the 17th century:"
Hey troly loly, love is joly,A whyle whill it is new;When it is old, it grows full cold,—Woe worth the love untrue!Complaynt of Scotland, i. 278.
Hey troly loly, love is joly,A whyle whill it is new;When it is old, it grows full cold,—Woe worth the love untrue!Complaynt of Scotland, i. 278.
O waly, waly up the bank,And waly, waly down the brae,And waly, waly yon burn side,Where I and my love wont to gae.I lean'd my back unto an aik,5I thought it was a trusty tree;But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,Sae my true love did lightly me!O waly, waly, but love be bonny,A little time while it is new;10But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld,And fades away like the morning dew.O wherefore should I busk my head?Or wherfore should I kame my hair?For my true love has me forsook,15And says he'll never love me mair.Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me:Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,Since my true love has forsaken me.20Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,And shake the green leaves off the tree?O gentle death, when wilt thou come?For of my life I'm weary.'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,25Nor blawing snaw's inclemency;'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,But my love's heart grown cauld to me.When we came in by Glasgow town,We were a comely sight to see;30My love was clad in the black velvet,And I my sell in cramasie.But had I wist, before I kiss'd,That love had been sae ill to win,I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,35And pin'd it with a silver pin.Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,And set upon the nurse's knee,And I my sell were dead and gane!For a maid again I'll never be.40
O waly, waly up the bank,And waly, waly down the brae,And waly, waly yon burn side,Where I and my love wont to gae.
I lean'd my back unto an aik,5I thought it was a trusty tree;But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,Sae my true love did lightly me!
O waly, waly, but love be bonny,A little time while it is new;10But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld,And fades away like the morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head?Or wherfore should I kame my hair?For my true love has me forsook,15And says he'll never love me mair.
Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me:Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,Since my true love has forsaken me.20
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,And shake the green leaves off the tree?O gentle death, when wilt thou come?For of my life I'm weary.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,25Nor blawing snaw's inclemency;'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,But my love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,We were a comely sight to see;30My love was clad in the black velvet,And I my sell in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kiss'd,That love had been sae ill to win,I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,35And pin'd it with a silver pin.
Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,And set upon the nurse's knee,And I my sell were dead and gane!For a maid again I'll never be.40
From the appendix to Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. v.An imperfect copy of this balladwas printed in Finlay's collection, vol. ii. p. 4; another, called theLaird of Blackwood, in Kinloch's, p. 60. Both of them may be seen at the end of this volume. Chambers has compiled a ballad in four parts from these three versions, another in manuscript, furnished by Kinloch, and the verses just given from Ramsay'sMiscellany; and Aytoun, more recently, has made up a ballad from two copies obtained from recitation by Kinloch, and called itThe Marchioness of Douglas. Ballads of Scotland, 2d ed. i. 135.
The circumstances which gave rise to the ballad are thus stated by Chambers: "James, second Marquis of Douglas, when aged twenty-four, married at Edinburgh, on the 7th of September, 1670, Lady Barbara Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth Earl of Mar. This lady is said to have been previously wooed, without success, by a gentleman of the name of Lowrie, who on account of his afterwards marrying Mariotte Weir, heiress of Blackwood, in Lanarkshire, was commonly called, according to the custom of Scotland, the Tutor, and sometimes the Laird, of Blackwood. Lowrie, who seems to have been considerably advanced in life at the time, was chamberlain or factor to the Marquis of Douglas; a circumstance which gave him peculiar facilities for executing an atrocious scheme of vengeance he had projected against the lady. By a train of proceedings somewhat similar to those ofIago, and in particular, by pretending to have discovered a pair of men's shoes underneath the Marchioness's bed, he completely succeeded in breaking up the affection of the unfortunate couple. Lord Douglas, who, though a man of profligate conduct, had hitherto treated his wife with some degree of politeness, now rendered her life so miserable, that she was obliged to seek refuge with her father. The earl came with a large retinue to carry her off, when, according to the ballad, as well as the tradition of the country, a most affecting scene took place. The Marquis himself was so much overcome by the parting of his wife and child—for she had now borne a son—that he expressed, even in that last hour, a desire of being reconciled to her. But the traitorous Lowrie succeeded in preventing him from doing so, by a well-aimed sarcasm at his weakness.... Regarding the ultimate fate of the Marchioness I am altogether ignorant. It is, however, very improbable that any reconciliation ever took place between her and her husband, such as is related in the ballad."Scottish Ballads, p. 150.
O waly, waly up the bank,And waly, waly down the brae,And waly, waly by yon burn side,Where me and my lord was wont to gae.Hey nonny nonnie, but love is bonnie,5A little while when it is new;But when love grows auld it grows mair cauld,And fades away like the morning dew.I lean'd my back against an aik,I thocht it was a trustie tree;10But first it bowed, and syne it break,And sae did my fause luve to me.My mother tauld me when I was young,That young man's love was ill to trow;But untill her I would give nae ear,15And alace my ain wand dings me now!O wherefore need I busk my head?O wherefore should I kaim my hair?For my good lord has me forsook,And says he'll never love me mair.20Gin I had wist or I had kisstThat young man's love was sae ill to win,I would hae lockt my hert wi' a key o' gowd,And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.An I had kent what I ken now,25I'd never crosst the water Tay,But stayed still at Athole's gates;—He would have made me his lady gay.When lords and lairds cam to this toun,And gentlemen o' a high degree,30I took my auld son in my arms,And went to my chamber pleasantlie.But when lords and lairdscomethrough this toun,And gentlemen o' a high degree,I must sit alane intill the dark,35And the babie on the nurse's knee.I had a nurse, and she was fair;She was a dearly nurse to me;She took my gay lord frae my side,And used him in her companie.40Awa, awa, thou fause Blackwood,Aye, and an ill death may thou die!Thou wert the first and occasion lastOf parting my gay lord and me.When I lay sick, and very sick,45Sick I was and like to die,A gentleman, a friend of mine,He came on purpose to visit me;But Blackwood whisper'd in my lord's earHe was ower lang in chamber with me.50When I was sick, and very sick,Sick I was and like to die,I drew me near to my stairhead,And I heard my ain lord lichtly me."Come down, come down, O Jamie Douglas,55And drink the orange wine with me;I'll set thee on a chair of gold,And daut thee kindly on my knee.""When sea and sand turn far inland,And mussels grow on ilka tree,60When cockle shells turn siller bells,I'll drink the orange wine wi' thee.""What ails you at our youngest son,That sits upon the nurse's knee?I'm sure he's never done any harm,65An it's not to his ain nurse and me."If I had kent what I ken now,That love it was sae ill to win,I should ne'er hae wet my cherry cheekFor onie man or woman's son.70When my father came to hearThat my gay lord had forsaken me,He sent five score of his soldiers brightTo take me safe to my ain countrie.Up in the mornin' when I arose,75My bonnie palace for to lea',I whispered in at my lord's window,But the never a word he would answer me."Fare ye weel, then, Jamie Douglas,I need care as little as ye care for me;80The Earl of Mar is my father dear,And I soon will see my ain countrie."Ye thought that I was like yoursell,And loving ilk ane I did see;But here I swear by the heavens clear,85I never loved a man but thee."Slowly, slowly rose I up,And slowly, slowly I cam down;And when he saw me sit in my coach,He made his drums and trumpets sound.90When I into my coach was set,My tenants all were with me tane;They set them down upon their knees,And they begg'd me to come back again.It's "fare ye weel, my bonnie palace;95And fare ye weel, my children three:God grant your father may get mair grace,And love thee better than he has done me."It's "fare ye weel, my servants all;And you, my bonnie children three:100God grant your father grace to be kindTill I see you safe in my ain countrie."But wae be to you, fause Blackwood,Aye, and ill death may you die!Ye are the first, and I hope the last,105That put strife between my good lord and me."When I came in through Edinburgh town,My loving father came to meet me,With trumpets sounding on every side;But it was no comfort at all to me:110For no mirth nor music sounds in my ear,Since the Earl of March has forsaken me."Hold your tongue, my daughter dear,And of your weeping pray let abee;For I'll send to him a bill of divorce,115And I'll get as good a lord to thee.""Hold your tongue, my father dear,And of your scoffing pray let abee;I would rather hae a kiss of my ain lord's mouthAs all the lords in the north countrie."120When she came to her father's land,The tenants a' cam her to see;Never a word she could speak to them,But the buttons aff her clothes did flee."The linnet is a bonnie bird,125And aften flees far frae its nest;So all the world may plainly seeThey 're far awa that I love best!"She looked out at her father's window,To take a view of the countrie;130Who did she see but Jamie Douglas,And along with him her children three.There came a soldier to the gate,And he did knock right hastilie:"If Lady Douglas be within,135Bid her come down and speak to me.""O come away, my lady fair,Come away, now, alang with me:For I have hanged fause BlackwoodAt the very place where he told the lie."140
O waly, waly up the bank,And waly, waly down the brae,And waly, waly by yon burn side,Where me and my lord was wont to gae.
Hey nonny nonnie, but love is bonnie,5A little while when it is new;But when love grows auld it grows mair cauld,And fades away like the morning dew.
I lean'd my back against an aik,I thocht it was a trustie tree;10But first it bowed, and syne it break,And sae did my fause luve to me.
My mother tauld me when I was young,That young man's love was ill to trow;But untill her I would give nae ear,15And alace my ain wand dings me now!
O wherefore need I busk my head?O wherefore should I kaim my hair?For my good lord has me forsook,And says he'll never love me mair.20
Gin I had wist or I had kisstThat young man's love was sae ill to win,I would hae lockt my hert wi' a key o' gowd,And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
An I had kent what I ken now,25I'd never crosst the water Tay,But stayed still at Athole's gates;—He would have made me his lady gay.
When lords and lairds cam to this toun,And gentlemen o' a high degree,30I took my auld son in my arms,And went to my chamber pleasantlie.
But when lords and lairdscomethrough this toun,And gentlemen o' a high degree,I must sit alane intill the dark,35And the babie on the nurse's knee.
I had a nurse, and she was fair;She was a dearly nurse to me;She took my gay lord frae my side,And used him in her companie.40
Awa, awa, thou fause Blackwood,Aye, and an ill death may thou die!Thou wert the first and occasion lastOf parting my gay lord and me.
When I lay sick, and very sick,45Sick I was and like to die,A gentleman, a friend of mine,He came on purpose to visit me;But Blackwood whisper'd in my lord's earHe was ower lang in chamber with me.50
When I was sick, and very sick,Sick I was and like to die,I drew me near to my stairhead,And I heard my ain lord lichtly me.
"Come down, come down, O Jamie Douglas,55And drink the orange wine with me;I'll set thee on a chair of gold,And daut thee kindly on my knee."
"When sea and sand turn far inland,And mussels grow on ilka tree,60When cockle shells turn siller bells,I'll drink the orange wine wi' thee."
"What ails you at our youngest son,That sits upon the nurse's knee?I'm sure he's never done any harm,65An it's not to his ain nurse and me."
If I had kent what I ken now,That love it was sae ill to win,I should ne'er hae wet my cherry cheekFor onie man or woman's son.70
When my father came to hearThat my gay lord had forsaken me,He sent five score of his soldiers brightTo take me safe to my ain countrie.
Up in the mornin' when I arose,75My bonnie palace for to lea',I whispered in at my lord's window,But the never a word he would answer me.
"Fare ye weel, then, Jamie Douglas,I need care as little as ye care for me;80The Earl of Mar is my father dear,And I soon will see my ain countrie.
"Ye thought that I was like yoursell,And loving ilk ane I did see;But here I swear by the heavens clear,85I never loved a man but thee."
Slowly, slowly rose I up,And slowly, slowly I cam down;And when he saw me sit in my coach,He made his drums and trumpets sound.90
When I into my coach was set,My tenants all were with me tane;They set them down upon their knees,And they begg'd me to come back again.
It's "fare ye weel, my bonnie palace;95And fare ye weel, my children three:God grant your father may get mair grace,And love thee better than he has done me."
It's "fare ye weel, my servants all;And you, my bonnie children three:100God grant your father grace to be kindTill I see you safe in my ain countrie.
"But wae be to you, fause Blackwood,Aye, and ill death may you die!Ye are the first, and I hope the last,105That put strife between my good lord and me."
When I came in through Edinburgh town,My loving father came to meet me,With trumpets sounding on every side;But it was no comfort at all to me:110For no mirth nor music sounds in my ear,Since the Earl of March has forsaken me.
"Hold your tongue, my daughter dear,And of your weeping pray let abee;For I'll send to him a bill of divorce,115And I'll get as good a lord to thee."
"Hold your tongue, my father dear,And of your scoffing pray let abee;I would rather hae a kiss of my ain lord's mouthAs all the lords in the north countrie."120
When she came to her father's land,The tenants a' cam her to see;Never a word she could speak to them,But the buttons aff her clothes did flee.
"The linnet is a bonnie bird,125And aften flees far frae its nest;So all the world may plainly seeThey 're far awa that I love best!"
She looked out at her father's window,To take a view of the countrie;130Who did she see but Jamie Douglas,And along with him her children three.
There came a soldier to the gate,And he did knock right hastilie:"If Lady Douglas be within,135Bid her come down and speak to me."
"O come away, my lady fair,Come away, now, alang with me:For I have hanged fause BlackwoodAt the very place where he told the lie."140
33, cam.124. SeeAndrew Lammie, vol. ii. 191.
33, cam.
124. SeeAndrew Lammie, vol. ii. 191.
We owe the preservation of this beautiful old ballad toArnold's Chronicle, of which the earliest edition is thought to have been printed in 1502. In Laneham's account of Elizabeth's visit to Kenilworth, theNut-brown Maidis mentioned as a book by itself, and there is said to be at Oxford a list of books offered for sale at that place in 1520, among which is theNot-Broon Mayd, price one penny; still, the ballad is not known to exist at present in any other ancient form than that of the Chronicle. We have no means of determining the date of the composition, but Percy has justly remarked that it is not probable that an antiquary would have inserted a piece in his historical collections which he knew to be modern. The language is that of the time at which it was printed.
The ballad seems to have been long forgotten, when it was revived inThe Muse's Mercuryfor June, 1707, (Percy.) There Prior met with it, and, charmed with its merit, he took the story for the foundation of hisHenry and Emma. Capel, in 1760, published a collated text from two different editions of the Chronicle,—we suppose that of 1502, and the second, which was printed in 1521, and exhibits some differences. Percy adopted Capel's text with a few alterations, (Reliques, ii. 30.) The text of the edition of 1502 has been twice reprinted since Percy's time: in theCensura Literaria, vol. i. p. 15, and by Mr. Wright, in a little black-letter volume, London, 1836. We have adopted Mr. Wright's text, not neglecting to compare it with that of Sir Egerton Brydges.
It will be interesting to compare with this matchless poem a ballad in other languages, which has the same drift;—Die Lind im Thale, orLiebesprobe, Erk,Deutscher Liederhort, p. 1, 3; Uhland, No. 116; Hoffmann,SchlesischeV. L., No. 22,Niederländische V. L., No. 26; Haupt and Schmaler,V. L. der Wenden, i. 72 (Hoffmann).
In the sixteenth century a ridiculous attempt was made to supplant the popular ballads in the mouths and affections of the people by turning them into pious parodies.The Nut-Brown Maidwas treated in this way, and the result may be seen inThe New Not-borune Mayd, printed by the Roxburghe Club, and by the Percy Society, vol. vi.
"Be it right or wrong, these men amongOn women do complaine,Affermyng this, how that it isA labour spent in vaineTo love them wele, for never a dele5They love a man agayne:For lete a man do what he canTher favour to attayne,Yet yf a newedothem pursue,Ther furst trew lover than10Laboureth for nought, and from her thoughtHe is a bannished man.""I say not nay, but that all dayIt is bothe writ and sayde,That womans fayth is, as who sayth,15All utterly decayed:But nevertheles, right good witnesIn this case might be layde,That they love trewe, and contynew,—RecordeTHE NUTBROWNE MAIDE;20Whiche from her love, whan her to proveHe cam to make his mone,Wolde not departe, for in her herteShe lovyd but hym allone.""Than betwene us lete us discusse25What was all the manérBetwene them too; we wyl alsoTelle allthepeyne and fereThat she was in; nowe I begynne,Seethat ye me answére:30Wherfore [all] ye that present be,I pray you geve an eare.I am the knyght, I cum be nyght,As secret as I can,Sayng 'Alas! thus stondyth thecase,35I am a bannisshed man!'""And I your wylle for to fulfylleIn this wyl not refuse,Trusting to shewe, in wordis fewe,That men have an ille use,40To ther owne shame, wymen to blame,And causeles them accuse:Therfore to you I answere now,Alle wymen to excuse,'Myn owne hert dere, with you what chiere?45I prey you telle anoon:For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you allon.'""It stondith so: a deed is doWherofmoche harme shal growe.50My desteny is for to deyA shamful dethe, I trowe,Or ellis to flee,—the ton must be:None other wey I knowe,But to withdrawe as an outlaw,55And take me to my bowe.Wherfore, adew, my owne hert trewe,None other red I can;For I muste to the grene wode goo,Alone, a bannysshed man."60"O Lorde, what is this worldis blisseThat chaungeth as the mone!My somers day in lusty MayIs derked before the none.I here you saye Farwel: nay, nay,65We departe not soo sone.Why say ye so? Wheder wyl ye goo?Alas, what have ye done?Alle my welfare to sorow and careShulde chaunge, yf ye were gon:70For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone.""I can beleve it shal you greve,And somewhat you distrayne;But aftyrwarde your paynes harde,75Within a day or tweyne,Shal sone aslake, and ye shal takeConfort to you agayne.Why shuld ye nought? for, to make thoughtYour labur were in vayne:80And thus I do, and pray you, too,As hertely as I can:For I muste too the grene wode goo,Alone, a banysshed man.""Now syth that ye have shewed to me85The secret of your mynde,I shal be playne to you agayne,Lyke as ye shal me fynde:Syth it is so that ye wyll goo,I wol not leve behynde;90Shal never be sayd the Nutbrowne MaydWas to her love unkind.Make you redy, for soo am I,All though it were anoon;For in my mynde, of all mankynde95I love but you alone.""Yet I you rede to take good hedeWhatmen wyl thinke and sey;Of yonge and olde it shal be told,That ye be gone away100Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle,In grene wood you to play;And that ye myght from your delyteNoo lenger make delay.Rather than ye shuld thus for me105Be called an ylle woman,Yet wolde I to the grene wodde gooAlone, a banysshed man.""Though it be songe of olde and yongeThat I shuld be to blame,110Theirs be the charge that speke so largeIn hurting of my name.For I wyl prove that feythful loveIt is devoyd of shame,In your distresse and hevynesse,115To parte wyth you the same;And sure all thoo that doo not so,Trewe lovers ar they noon;But in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."120"I counsel yow remembre howIt is noo maydens lawe,Nothing to dought, but to renne outTo wod with an outlawe.For ye must there in your hande bere125A bowe to bere and drawe,And as a theef thus must ye lyeve,Ever in drede and awe;By whiche to yow gret harme myght grow;—Yet had I lever than130That I had too the grenewod gooAlone, a banysshyd man.""I thinke not nay; but, as ye saye,It is noo maydens lore;But love may make me for your sake,135As ye have said before,To com on fote, to hunte and shoteTo gete us mete and store;For soo that I your companyMay have, I aske noo more;140From whiche to parte, it makith myn herteAs colde as ony ston:For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone.""For an outlawe this is the lawe,145That men hym take and binde,Without pytee hanged to bee,And waver with the wynde.Yf I had neede, as God forbede,What rescous coude ye finde?150For sothe, I trowe, you and your boweShulddrawe for fere behynde:And noo merveyle; for lytel avayleWere in your councel than;Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo155Alone, a banysshed man.""Ful wel knowe ye that wymen beeFul febyl for to fyght;Noo womanhed is it indeede,To bee bolde as a knight.160Yet in suche fere yf that ye were,Amonge enemys day and nyght,I wolde wythstonde, with bowe in hande,To greeve them as I myght,And you to save, as wymen have,165From deth many one:For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone.""Yet take good hede; for ever I dredeThat ye coude not sustein170The thorney wayes, the depe valeis,The snowe, the frost, the reyn,The colde, the hete; for, drye or wete,We must lodge on the playn;And us aboove noon other rove175But a brake bussh or twayne;Whiche sone shulde greve you, I beleve,And ye wolde gladly thanThat I had too the grenewode gooAlone, a banysshyd man."180"Syth I have here been partynereWith you of joy and blysse,I must also parte of your wooEndure, as reason is;Yet am I sure of oo plesure,185And shortly, it is this;That where ye bee, mesemeth, perdé,I coude not fare amysse.Wythout more speche, I you besecheThat we were soon agone;190For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone.""Yf ye goo thedyr, ye must consider,Whan ye have lust to dyne,Ther shel no mete be fore to gete,195Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wine;Ne shetis clene to lye betwene,Made of thred and twyne:Noon other house but levys and bowesTo kever yourhedand myn.200Loo, myn herte swete, this ylle dyetShuld make you pale and wan:Wherfore I to the wood wyl gooAlone, a banysshid man.""Amonge the wylde dere suche an archier205As men say that ye beeNe may not fayle of good vitayle,Where is so grete plente;And watir cleere of the ryvereShal be ful swete to me,210Wyth whiche in hele I shal right weleEndure, as ye shall see:And er we go, a bed or tooI can provide anoon;For in my mynde, of all mankynde215I love but you alone.""Loo, yet before, ye must doo more,Yf ye wyl goo with me,As cutte your here up by your ere,Your kirtel by the knee;220Wyth bowe in hande, for to withstondeYour enmys, yf nede bee;And this same nyght, before daylight,To woodward wyl I flee;And [if] ye wyl all this fulfylle,225Doo it shortely as ye can:Ellis wil I to the grene wode gooAlone, a banysshyd man.""I shal as now do more for youThan longeth to womanhede,230To short my here, a bowe to bere,To shote in tyme of nede:O my swete moder, before all other,For you have I most drede!But now, adiew! I must ensue235Wher fortune duth me leede.All this make ye; now lete us flee;The daycumsfast upon;For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."240"Nay, nay, not soo; ye shal not goo;And I shal telle you why;Your appetyte is to be lyghtOf love, I wele aspie:For right as ye have sayd to me,245In lyke wyse, hardely,Ye wolde answere, who so ever it were,In way of company.It is sayd of olde, sone hote, sone colde,And so is a woman;250Wherfore I too the woode wyl gooAlone, a banysshid man.""Yef ye take hede,yt isnoo nedeSuche wordis to say bee me;For ofte ye preyd, and longe assayed,255Or I you lovid, perdé.And though that I of auncestryA barons doughter bee,Yet have you proved how I you loved,A squyer of lowe degree;260And ever shal, what so befalle,To dey therfore anoon;For in my mynde, of al mankyndeI love but you alone.""A barons childe to be begyled,265It were a curssed dede!To be felow with an outlawe,Almyghty God forbede!Yet bettyr were the power squyerAlone to forest yede,270Than ye shal saye another day,That be [my] wyked dedeYe were betrayed; wherfore, good maide,The best red that I canIs that I too the greene wode goo275Alone, a banysshed man.""Whatsoever befalle, I never shalOf this thing you upbraid;But yf ye goo, and leve me soo,Than have ye me betraied.280Remembre you wele, how that ye dele,For yf ye, as ye sayde,Be so unkynde to leve behyndYour love, the Notbrowne Maide,Trust me truly, that I shal dey,285Sone after ye be gone;For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone.""Yef that ye went, ye shulde repent,For in the forest now290I have purveid me of a maide,Whom I love more than you:Another fayrer than ever ye were,I dare it wel avowe;And of you bothe eche shulde be wrothe295With other, as I trowe.It were myn ease to lyve in pease;So wyl I, yf I can;Wherfore I to the wode wyl gooAlone, a banysshid man."300"Though in the wood I undirstodeYe had a paramour,All this may nought remeve my thought,But that I wil be your;And she shal fynde me softe and kynde,305And curteis every our,Glad to fulfylle all that she wylleCommaunde me, to my power;For had ye, loo, an hundred moo,Yet wolde I be that one.310For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone.""Myn oune dere love, I see the proveThat ye be kynde and trewe;Of mayde and wyf, in all my lyf,315The best that ever I knewe.Be mery and glad, be no more sad,The case is chaunged newe;For it were ruthe that for your trouthYou shuld have cause to rewe.320Be not dismayed: whatsoever I saydTo you whan I began,I wyl not too the grene wod goo;I am noo banysshyd man.""Theis tidingis be more glad to me325Than to be made a quene,Yf I were sure they shuld endure;But it is often seen,When men wyl breke promyse, they spekeThe wordis on the splene.330Ye shape some wyle me to begyle,And stele fro me, I wene;Then were the case wurs than it was,And I more woo-begone;For in my mynde, of all mankynde335I love but you alone.""Ye shal not nede further to drede:I wyl not disparageYou, God defende! sith you descendeOf so grete a lynage.340Nou understonde, to Westmerlande,Which is my herytage,I wyl you bringe, and wyth a rynge,Be wey of maryage,I wyl you take, and lady make,345As shortly as I can:Thus have ye wone an erles son,And not a banysshyd man."Here may ye see, that wymen beIn love meke, kinde, and stable:350Late never man repreve them than,Or calle them variable;But rather prey God that we mayTo them be comfortable,Whiche somtyme provyth suche as loveth,355Yf they be charitable.For sith men wolde that wymen sholdeBe meke to them echeon,Moche more ought they to God obey,And serve but hym alone.360
"Be it right or wrong, these men amongOn women do complaine,Affermyng this, how that it isA labour spent in vaineTo love them wele, for never a dele5They love a man agayne:For lete a man do what he canTher favour to attayne,Yet yf a newedothem pursue,Ther furst trew lover than10Laboureth for nought, and from her thoughtHe is a bannished man."
"I say not nay, but that all dayIt is bothe writ and sayde,That womans fayth is, as who sayth,15All utterly decayed:But nevertheles, right good witnesIn this case might be layde,That they love trewe, and contynew,—RecordeTHE NUTBROWNE MAIDE;20Whiche from her love, whan her to proveHe cam to make his mone,Wolde not departe, for in her herteShe lovyd but hym allone."
"Than betwene us lete us discusse25What was all the manérBetwene them too; we wyl alsoTelle allthepeyne and fereThat she was in; nowe I begynne,Seethat ye me answére:30Wherfore [all] ye that present be,I pray you geve an eare.I am the knyght, I cum be nyght,As secret as I can,Sayng 'Alas! thus stondyth thecase,35I am a bannisshed man!'"
"And I your wylle for to fulfylleIn this wyl not refuse,Trusting to shewe, in wordis fewe,That men have an ille use,40To ther owne shame, wymen to blame,And causeles them accuse:Therfore to you I answere now,Alle wymen to excuse,'Myn owne hert dere, with you what chiere?45I prey you telle anoon:For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you allon.'"
"It stondith so: a deed is doWherofmoche harme shal growe.50My desteny is for to deyA shamful dethe, I trowe,Or ellis to flee,—the ton must be:None other wey I knowe,But to withdrawe as an outlaw,55And take me to my bowe.Wherfore, adew, my owne hert trewe,None other red I can;For I muste to the grene wode goo,Alone, a bannysshed man."60
"O Lorde, what is this worldis blisseThat chaungeth as the mone!My somers day in lusty MayIs derked before the none.I here you saye Farwel: nay, nay,65We departe not soo sone.Why say ye so? Wheder wyl ye goo?Alas, what have ye done?Alle my welfare to sorow and careShulde chaunge, yf ye were gon:70For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."
"I can beleve it shal you greve,And somewhat you distrayne;But aftyrwarde your paynes harde,75Within a day or tweyne,Shal sone aslake, and ye shal takeConfort to you agayne.Why shuld ye nought? for, to make thoughtYour labur were in vayne:80And thus I do, and pray you, too,As hertely as I can:For I muste too the grene wode goo,Alone, a banysshed man."
"Now syth that ye have shewed to me85The secret of your mynde,I shal be playne to you agayne,Lyke as ye shal me fynde:Syth it is so that ye wyll goo,I wol not leve behynde;90Shal never be sayd the Nutbrowne MaydWas to her love unkind.Make you redy, for soo am I,All though it were anoon;For in my mynde, of all mankynde95I love but you alone."
"Yet I you rede to take good hedeWhatmen wyl thinke and sey;Of yonge and olde it shal be told,That ye be gone away100Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle,In grene wood you to play;And that ye myght from your delyteNoo lenger make delay.Rather than ye shuld thus for me105Be called an ylle woman,Yet wolde I to the grene wodde gooAlone, a banysshed man."
"Though it be songe of olde and yongeThat I shuld be to blame,110Theirs be the charge that speke so largeIn hurting of my name.For I wyl prove that feythful loveIt is devoyd of shame,In your distresse and hevynesse,115To parte wyth you the same;And sure all thoo that doo not so,Trewe lovers ar they noon;But in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."120
"I counsel yow remembre howIt is noo maydens lawe,Nothing to dought, but to renne outTo wod with an outlawe.For ye must there in your hande bere125A bowe to bere and drawe,And as a theef thus must ye lyeve,Ever in drede and awe;By whiche to yow gret harme myght grow;—Yet had I lever than130That I had too the grenewod gooAlone, a banysshyd man."
"I thinke not nay; but, as ye saye,It is noo maydens lore;But love may make me for your sake,135As ye have said before,To com on fote, to hunte and shoteTo gete us mete and store;For soo that I your companyMay have, I aske noo more;140From whiche to parte, it makith myn herteAs colde as ony ston:For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."
"For an outlawe this is the lawe,145That men hym take and binde,Without pytee hanged to bee,And waver with the wynde.Yf I had neede, as God forbede,What rescous coude ye finde?150For sothe, I trowe, you and your boweShulddrawe for fere behynde:And noo merveyle; for lytel avayleWere in your councel than;Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo155Alone, a banysshed man."
"Ful wel knowe ye that wymen beeFul febyl for to fyght;Noo womanhed is it indeede,To bee bolde as a knight.160Yet in suche fere yf that ye were,Amonge enemys day and nyght,I wolde wythstonde, with bowe in hande,To greeve them as I myght,And you to save, as wymen have,165From deth many one:For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."
"Yet take good hede; for ever I dredeThat ye coude not sustein170The thorney wayes, the depe valeis,The snowe, the frost, the reyn,The colde, the hete; for, drye or wete,We must lodge on the playn;And us aboove noon other rove175But a brake bussh or twayne;Whiche sone shulde greve you, I beleve,And ye wolde gladly thanThat I had too the grenewode gooAlone, a banysshyd man."180
"Syth I have here been partynereWith you of joy and blysse,I must also parte of your wooEndure, as reason is;Yet am I sure of oo plesure,185And shortly, it is this;That where ye bee, mesemeth, perdé,I coude not fare amysse.Wythout more speche, I you besecheThat we were soon agone;190For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."
"Yf ye goo thedyr, ye must consider,Whan ye have lust to dyne,Ther shel no mete be fore to gete,195Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wine;Ne shetis clene to lye betwene,Made of thred and twyne:Noon other house but levys and bowesTo kever yourhedand myn.200Loo, myn herte swete, this ylle dyetShuld make you pale and wan:Wherfore I to the wood wyl gooAlone, a banysshid man."
"Amonge the wylde dere suche an archier205As men say that ye beeNe may not fayle of good vitayle,Where is so grete plente;And watir cleere of the ryvereShal be ful swete to me,210Wyth whiche in hele I shal right weleEndure, as ye shall see:And er we go, a bed or tooI can provide anoon;For in my mynde, of all mankynde215I love but you alone."
"Loo, yet before, ye must doo more,Yf ye wyl goo with me,As cutte your here up by your ere,Your kirtel by the knee;220Wyth bowe in hande, for to withstondeYour enmys, yf nede bee;And this same nyght, before daylight,To woodward wyl I flee;And [if] ye wyl all this fulfylle,225Doo it shortely as ye can:Ellis wil I to the grene wode gooAlone, a banysshyd man."
"I shal as now do more for youThan longeth to womanhede,230To short my here, a bowe to bere,To shote in tyme of nede:O my swete moder, before all other,For you have I most drede!But now, adiew! I must ensue235Wher fortune duth me leede.All this make ye; now lete us flee;The daycumsfast upon;For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."240
"Nay, nay, not soo; ye shal not goo;And I shal telle you why;Your appetyte is to be lyghtOf love, I wele aspie:For right as ye have sayd to me,245In lyke wyse, hardely,Ye wolde answere, who so ever it were,In way of company.It is sayd of olde, sone hote, sone colde,And so is a woman;250Wherfore I too the woode wyl gooAlone, a banysshid man."
"Yef ye take hede,yt isnoo nedeSuche wordis to say bee me;For ofte ye preyd, and longe assayed,255Or I you lovid, perdé.And though that I of auncestryA barons doughter bee,Yet have you proved how I you loved,A squyer of lowe degree;260And ever shal, what so befalle,To dey therfore anoon;For in my mynde, of al mankyndeI love but you alone."
"A barons childe to be begyled,265It were a curssed dede!To be felow with an outlawe,Almyghty God forbede!Yet bettyr were the power squyerAlone to forest yede,270Than ye shal saye another day,That be [my] wyked dedeYe were betrayed; wherfore, good maide,The best red that I canIs that I too the greene wode goo275Alone, a banysshed man."
"Whatsoever befalle, I never shalOf this thing you upbraid;But yf ye goo, and leve me soo,Than have ye me betraied.280Remembre you wele, how that ye dele,For yf ye, as ye sayde,Be so unkynde to leve behyndYour love, the Notbrowne Maide,Trust me truly, that I shal dey,285Sone after ye be gone;For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."
"Yef that ye went, ye shulde repent,For in the forest now290I have purveid me of a maide,Whom I love more than you:Another fayrer than ever ye were,I dare it wel avowe;And of you bothe eche shulde be wrothe295With other, as I trowe.It were myn ease to lyve in pease;So wyl I, yf I can;Wherfore I to the wode wyl gooAlone, a banysshid man."300
"Though in the wood I undirstodeYe had a paramour,All this may nought remeve my thought,But that I wil be your;And she shal fynde me softe and kynde,305And curteis every our,Glad to fulfylle all that she wylleCommaunde me, to my power;For had ye, loo, an hundred moo,Yet wolde I be that one.310For in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone."
"Myn oune dere love, I see the proveThat ye be kynde and trewe;Of mayde and wyf, in all my lyf,315The best that ever I knewe.Be mery and glad, be no more sad,The case is chaunged newe;For it were ruthe that for your trouthYou shuld have cause to rewe.320Be not dismayed: whatsoever I saydTo you whan I began,I wyl not too the grene wod goo;I am noo banysshyd man."
"Theis tidingis be more glad to me325Than to be made a quene,Yf I were sure they shuld endure;But it is often seen,When men wyl breke promyse, they spekeThe wordis on the splene.330Ye shape some wyle me to begyle,And stele fro me, I wene;Then were the case wurs than it was,And I more woo-begone;For in my mynde, of all mankynde335I love but you alone."
"Ye shal not nede further to drede:I wyl not disparageYou, God defende! sith you descendeOf so grete a lynage.340Nou understonde, to Westmerlande,Which is my herytage,I wyl you bringe, and wyth a rynge,Be wey of maryage,I wyl you take, and lady make,345As shortly as I can:Thus have ye wone an erles son,And not a banysshyd man."
Here may ye see, that wymen beIn love meke, kinde, and stable:350Late never man repreve them than,Or calle them variable;But rather prey God that we mayTo them be comfortable,Whiche somtyme provyth suche as loveth,355Yf they be charitable.For sith men wolde that wymen sholdeBe meke to them echeon,Moche more ought they to God obey,And serve but hym alone.360