XVI.CUPID AND CAMPASPE.

FOOTNOTES:[240]Ver. 29. It should probably be,Read me, read, &c., i.e.Advise me, advise.

[240]Ver. 29. It should probably be,Read me, read, &c., i.e.Advise me, advise.

Thiselegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play intitledAlexander and Campaspe, written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the time of queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed in 1591; but this copy is given from a later edition.

[These pretty epigrammatic verses occur in act iii. sc. 5. of Lilly's play as a song by Apelles. The first edition ofCampaspewas printed in 1584, and that of 1591, mentioned above, is the second edition. This song, however, was omitted in all the editions printed before that of E. Blount (Six Court Comedies, 1632.)]

Cupid and my Campaspe playdAt cardes for kisses; Cupid payd:He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows;Loses them too; then down he throws5The coral of his lippe, the roseGrowing on's cheek (but none knows how)With these, the crystal of his browe,And then the dimple of his chinne;All these did my Campaspe winne.10At last he set her both his eyes,She won, and Cupid blind did rise.O Love! has she done this to thee?What shall, alas! become of mee?

At last he set her both his eyes,She won, and Cupid blind did rise.O Love! has she done this to thee?What shall, alas! become of mee?

Isgiven from a written copy, containing some improvements (perhaps modern ones), upon the popular ballad, intitled,The famous flower of Serving-men: or theLadyturned Serving-man.

[It is printed in theCollection of Old Ballads(i. 216) without theimprovements. After verse 56 the first person is changed to the third in the original, but Percy altered this and made the first person run on throughout. Kinloch (Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 95) gives a very mutilated and varied version of this ballad in the Scottish dress under the title ofSweet Willie, which was taken down from the recitation of an old woman in Lanark. There is a similar story in Swedish and Danish.]

You beauteous ladyes, great and small,I write unto you one and all,Whereby that you may understandWhat I have suffered in the land.I was by birth a lady faire,5An ancient barons only heire,And when my good old father dyed,Then I became a young knightes bride.And there my love built me a bower,Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;10A braver bower you ne'er did seeThen my true-love did build for mee.And there I livde a ladye gay,Till fortune wrought our loves decay;For there came foes so fierce a band,15That soon they over-run the land.They came upon us in the night,And brent my bower, and slew my knight;And trembling hid in mans array,I scant with life escap'd away.20In the midst of this extremitìe,My servants all did from me flee:Thus was I left myself alone,With heart more cold than any stone.Yet though my heart was full of care,25Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire,Wherefore in haste I chang'd my nameFrom faire Elise, to sweet Williame:And therewithall I cut my haire,Resolv'd my man's attire to weare;30And in my beaver, hose and band,I travell'd far through many a land.At length all wearied with my toil,I sate me downe to rest awhile;My heart it was so fill'd with woe,35That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.It chanc'd the king of that same placeWith all his lords a hunting was,And seeing me weepe, upon the sameAskt who I was, and whence I came.40Then to his grace I did replye,I am a poore and friendlesse boye,Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to beeA serving-man of lowe degree.Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd,45For thee a service I'll provyde:But tell me first what thou canst do;Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.Wilt thou be usher of my hall,To wait upon my nobles all?50Or wilt be taster of my wine,To 'tend on me when I shall dine?Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine,About my person to remaine?Or wilt thou be one of my guard,55And I will give thee great reward?Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place.Then I reply'd, If it please your graceTo shew such favour unto mee,Your chamberlaine I faine would bee.60The king then smiling gave consent,And straitwaye to his court I went;Where I behavde so faithfullìe,That hee great favour showd to mee.Now marke what fortune did provide;65The king he would a hunting rideWith all his lords and noble traine,Sweet William must at home remaine.Thus being left alone behind,My former state came in my mind:70I wept to see my mans array;No longer now a ladye gay.And meeting with a ladyes vest,Within the same myself I drest;With silken robes, and jewels rare,75I deckt me, as a ladye faire:And taking up a lute straitwaye,Upon the same I strove to play;And sweetly to the same did sing,As made both hall and chamber ring.80"My father was as brave a lord,As ever Europe might afford;My mother was a lady bright;My husband was a valiant knight:"And I myself a ladye gay,85Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;The happiest lady in the land,Had not more pleasure at command."I had my musicke every dayHarmonious lessons for to play;90I had my virgins fair and free,Continually to wait on mee."But now, alas! my husband's dead,And all my friends are from me fled,My former days are past and gone,95And I am now a serving-man."And fetching many a tender sigh,As thinking no one then was nigh,In pensive mood I laid me lowe,My heart was full, the tears did flowe.100The king, who had a huntinge gone,Grewe weary of his sport anone,And leaving all his gallant traine,Turn'd on the sudden home againe:And when he reach'd his statelye tower,105Hearing one sing within his bower,He stopt to listen, and to seeWho sung there so melodiouslìe.Thus heard he everye word I sed,And saw the pearlye teares I shed,110And found to his amazement there,Sweete William was a ladye faire.Then stepping in, Faire ladye, rise,And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes,For I have heard thy mournful tale,115The which shall turne to thy availe.A crimson dye my face orespred,I blusht for shame, and hung my head,To find my sex and story knowne,When as I thought I was alone.120But to be briefe, his royall graceGrewe so enamour'd of my face,The richest gifts he proffered mee,His mistress if that I would bee.Ah! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd,125I'll rather in my grave be layd,And though your grace hath won my heart,I ne'er will act soe base a part.Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee,Thy virtue shall rewarded bee,130And since it is soe fairly trydeThou shalt become my royal bride.Then strait to end his amorous strife,He tooke sweet William to his wife.The like before was never seene,135A serving-man became a queene.

You beauteous ladyes, great and small,I write unto you one and all,Whereby that you may understandWhat I have suffered in the land.

I was by birth a lady faire,5An ancient barons only heire,And when my good old father dyed,Then I became a young knightes bride.

And there my love built me a bower,Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;10A braver bower you ne'er did seeThen my true-love did build for mee.

And there I livde a ladye gay,Till fortune wrought our loves decay;For there came foes so fierce a band,15That soon they over-run the land.

They came upon us in the night,And brent my bower, and slew my knight;And trembling hid in mans array,I scant with life escap'd away.20

In the midst of this extremitìe,My servants all did from me flee:Thus was I left myself alone,With heart more cold than any stone.

Yet though my heart was full of care,25Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire,Wherefore in haste I chang'd my nameFrom faire Elise, to sweet Williame:

And therewithall I cut my haire,Resolv'd my man's attire to weare;30And in my beaver, hose and band,I travell'd far through many a land.

At length all wearied with my toil,I sate me downe to rest awhile;My heart it was so fill'd with woe,35That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.

It chanc'd the king of that same placeWith all his lords a hunting was,And seeing me weepe, upon the sameAskt who I was, and whence I came.40

Then to his grace I did replye,I am a poore and friendlesse boye,Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to beeA serving-man of lowe degree.

Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd,45For thee a service I'll provyde:But tell me first what thou canst do;Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.

Wilt thou be usher of my hall,To wait upon my nobles all?50Or wilt be taster of my wine,To 'tend on me when I shall dine?

Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine,About my person to remaine?Or wilt thou be one of my guard,55And I will give thee great reward?

Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place.Then I reply'd, If it please your graceTo shew such favour unto mee,Your chamberlaine I faine would bee.60

The king then smiling gave consent,And straitwaye to his court I went;Where I behavde so faithfullìe,That hee great favour showd to mee.

Now marke what fortune did provide;65The king he would a hunting rideWith all his lords and noble traine,Sweet William must at home remaine.

Thus being left alone behind,My former state came in my mind:70I wept to see my mans array;No longer now a ladye gay.

And meeting with a ladyes vest,Within the same myself I drest;With silken robes, and jewels rare,75I deckt me, as a ladye faire:

And taking up a lute straitwaye,Upon the same I strove to play;And sweetly to the same did sing,As made both hall and chamber ring.80

"My father was as brave a lord,As ever Europe might afford;My mother was a lady bright;My husband was a valiant knight:

"And I myself a ladye gay,85Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;The happiest lady in the land,Had not more pleasure at command.

"I had my musicke every dayHarmonious lessons for to play;90I had my virgins fair and free,Continually to wait on mee.

"But now, alas! my husband's dead,And all my friends are from me fled,My former days are past and gone,95And I am now a serving-man."

And fetching many a tender sigh,As thinking no one then was nigh,In pensive mood I laid me lowe,My heart was full, the tears did flowe.100

The king, who had a huntinge gone,Grewe weary of his sport anone,And leaving all his gallant traine,Turn'd on the sudden home againe:

And when he reach'd his statelye tower,105Hearing one sing within his bower,He stopt to listen, and to seeWho sung there so melodiouslìe.

Thus heard he everye word I sed,And saw the pearlye teares I shed,110And found to his amazement there,Sweete William was a ladye faire.

Then stepping in, Faire ladye, rise,And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes,For I have heard thy mournful tale,115The which shall turne to thy availe.

A crimson dye my face orespred,I blusht for shame, and hung my head,To find my sex and story knowne,When as I thought I was alone.120

But to be briefe, his royall graceGrewe so enamour'd of my face,The richest gifts he proffered mee,His mistress if that I would bee.

Ah! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd,125I'll rather in my grave be layd,And though your grace hath won my heart,I ne'er will act soe base a part.

Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee,Thy virtue shall rewarded bee,130And since it is soe fairly trydeThou shalt become my royal bride.

Then strait to end his amorous strife,He tooke sweet William to his wife.The like before was never seene,135A serving-man became a queene.

⁂

A Scottish Ballad.

Thefollowing piece hath run thro' two editions in Scotland: the second was printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem was owing "to a lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses;" and "any reader that can render it more correct or complete," is desired to oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of this advertisement sixteen additional verses have been produced and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper places: (these are from ver. 109, to ver. 121, and from ver. 124, to ver. 129, but are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpolation.)

As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, we have assigned it a place among our early pieces: though, after all, there is reason to believe it has received very considerable modern improvements: for in the Editor's ancient MS. collection is a very old imperfect copy of the same ballad: wherein though the leading features of the story are the same, yet the colouring here is so much improved and heightened, and so many additional strokes are thrown in, that it is evident the whole has undergone a revisal.

This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of the tragedy ofDouglas.

Since it was first printed, the Editor has been assured that the foregoing ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where the hero is universally known by the name ofChild Maurice, pronounced by the common peopleCheildorCheeld; which occasioned the mistake.

It may be proper to mention that other copies read ver. 110, thus:

"Shot frae the golden sun"

And ver. 116, as follows:

"His een like azure sheene."

N.B. The Editor's MS. instead of "lord Barnard," has "John Stewart;" and instead of "Gil Morrice,"Child Maurice, which last is probably the original title. See above, p.58.

[Gil Mauriceis one of the most popular of the old ballads and it is also one of the most corrupt. The present copy is so tinkered that it is not surprising Burns regarded the ballad as a modern composition and classed it withHardyknute, a position afterwards taken up by Robert Chambers in his pamphletThe Romantic Scottish Ballads,their epoch and authorship. The fact however that the story is preserved in the Folio MS. and also in several other forms obtained from tradition prove it to be an authentic ballad. Jamieson thinks it has all the appearance of being a true narrative of some incident that had really taken place. Motherwell devotes several pages of hisMinstrelsy(pp. 257-286) to an account of the various versions. He says that tradition points out the "green wood" of the ballad in the ancient forest of Dundaff in Stirlingshire.The request for additions mentioned above by Percy was a tempting bait eagerly caught at, and the edition of 1755 was a made up text with additional verses. Besides vv. 109-120, 125-128, which are known to be interpolations, Professor Child (Englishand Scottish Ballads, vol. ii. p. 38) also degrades to the foot of the page the verses from 177 to the end, on the authority of Jamieson, who says, that "having been attentive to all the proceedings in most of the trials at the bar of ballad criticism I may venture to hazard an opinion that the genuine text ends with 'ver. 176.'" Ritson and Motherwell are of the same opinion. Sir Walter Scott notes on the interpolated verses, "In the beautiful and simple ballad ofGil Morrissome affected person has stuck in one or two factitious verses which, like vulgar persons in a drawing room, betray themselves by their over-finery."The fine copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 500), which Jamieson thought debased and totally unworthy of the subject, which Chambers calls "a poor, bald imperfect composition," and Mr. Hales more accurately designates as "a noble specimen of our ballad poetry in all its strength," was first printed by Jamieson (Popular Ballads and Songs, 1806, vol. i. p. 8), and is now added to the present version. The last stanza of the Folio MS. copy is identical with the last stanza but one ofLittle Musgraveand Lady Barnard, with which it seems to have some connection both in subject and name.Prof. Aytoun points out that vv. 51-58 of Percy's copy, which are now placed within brackets, are taken fromLady Maisry, a ballad obtained from recitation and printed by Jamieson (vol. i. p. 73).

The request for additions mentioned above by Percy was a tempting bait eagerly caught at, and the edition of 1755 was a made up text with additional verses. Besides vv. 109-120, 125-128, which are known to be interpolations, Professor Child (Englishand Scottish Ballads, vol. ii. p. 38) also degrades to the foot of the page the verses from 177 to the end, on the authority of Jamieson, who says, that "having been attentive to all the proceedings in most of the trials at the bar of ballad criticism I may venture to hazard an opinion that the genuine text ends with 'ver. 176.'" Ritson and Motherwell are of the same opinion. Sir Walter Scott notes on the interpolated verses, "In the beautiful and simple ballad ofGil Morrissome affected person has stuck in one or two factitious verses which, like vulgar persons in a drawing room, betray themselves by their over-finery."

The fine copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 500), which Jamieson thought debased and totally unworthy of the subject, which Chambers calls "a poor, bald imperfect composition," and Mr. Hales more accurately designates as "a noble specimen of our ballad poetry in all its strength," was first printed by Jamieson (Popular Ballads and Songs, 1806, vol. i. p. 8), and is now added to the present version. The last stanza of the Folio MS. copy is identical with the last stanza but one ofLittle Musgraveand Lady Barnard, with which it seems to have some connection both in subject and name.

Prof. Aytoun points out that vv. 51-58 of Percy's copy, which are now placed within brackets, are taken fromLady Maisry, a ballad obtained from recitation and printed by Jamieson (vol. i. p. 73).

"O whan he came to broken briggsHe bent his bow and swam,And whan he came to the green grass growin'He slack'd his shoon and ran.And whan he came to Lord William's yeatsHe badena to chap or ca',But set his bent bow to his breastAnd lightly lap the wa'."

"O whan he came to broken briggsHe bent his bow and swam,And whan he came to the green grass growin'He slack'd his shoon and ran.

And whan he came to Lord William's yeatsHe badena to chap or ca',But set his bent bow to his breastAnd lightly lap the wa'."

It is however only fair to Percy to say that he printedGil MoricebeforeLady Maisrywas published.Gray wrote to a friend, "I have got the old Scotch ballad on whichDouglaswas founded; it is divine, and as long as from hence [Cambridge] to Aston."Jamieson says, on the authority of Sir Walter Scott, that after the appearance of Home'sDouglassix additional stanzas, beginning—

It is however only fair to Percy to say that he printedGil MoricebeforeLady Maisrywas published.

Gray wrote to a friend, "I have got the old Scotch ballad on whichDouglaswas founded; it is divine, and as long as from hence [Cambridge] to Aston."

Jamieson says, on the authority of Sir Walter Scott, that after the appearance of Home'sDouglassix additional stanzas, beginning—

"She heard him speak, but fell despairSat rooted in her heartShe heard him, and she heard nae mairThough sair she rued the smart,"

were written to complete the ballad, and in accordance with the final catastrophe of the tragedy Lord Barnard rushes into the thickest of the fight—

"and meets the death he sought."

When the play was produced in Edinburgh in 1756 the heroine was named Lady Barnard, and the alteration to Lady Randolph was made on its appearance in England in the following year.Jamieson gives three stanzas of a traditional version of the ballad, the whole of which neither he nor Motherwell could recover, although Mr. Sharpe told the latter that they were incorporated in an Annandale version which contained a novel feature in the story.Motherwell prints a version calledChield Morice, which he took down from the recitation of an old woman of 70 in 1827, and which she had learned in infancy from her grandmother. She told Motherwell "that at a later period of her life she also committed to memoryGill Morice, which began with young lasses like her to be a greater favourite, and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and other old folks used to sing under the title ofChield Morice." He also printsChild Moryce, taken down from the singing of widow M'Cormick of Paisley in 1825, and adds his opinion that Morice and Maurice are evident corruptions of Norice—a foster child. The story of Langhorne'sOwen ofCarronis also taken from this ballad.]

When the play was produced in Edinburgh in 1756 the heroine was named Lady Barnard, and the alteration to Lady Randolph was made on its appearance in England in the following year.

Jamieson gives three stanzas of a traditional version of the ballad, the whole of which neither he nor Motherwell could recover, although Mr. Sharpe told the latter that they were incorporated in an Annandale version which contained a novel feature in the story.

Motherwell prints a version calledChield Morice, which he took down from the recitation of an old woman of 70 in 1827, and which she had learned in infancy from her grandmother. She told Motherwell "that at a later period of her life she also committed to memoryGill Morice, which began with young lasses like her to be a greater favourite, and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and other old folks used to sing under the title ofChield Morice." He also printsChild Moryce, taken down from the singing of widow M'Cormick of Paisley in 1825, and adds his opinion that Morice and Maurice are evident corruptions of Norice—a foster child. The story of Langhorne'sOwen ofCarronis also taken from this ballad.]

Gil Morrice was an erlès son,His name it waxed wide;It was nae for his great richès,Nor yet his mickle pride;Bot it was for a lady gay,5That livd on Carron side.Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,That will win hose and shoen;That will gae to lord Barnards ha',And bid his lady cum?10And ye maun rin my errand, Willie;[241]And ye may rin wi' pride;Quhen other boys gae on their foot,On horse-back ye sall ride.O no! Oh no! my master dear!15I dare nae for my life;I'll no gae to the bauld baròns,For to triest furth his wife.My bird Willie, my boy Willie;My dear Willie, he sayd:20How can ye strive against the stream?For I sall be obeyd.Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,In grene wod ye're your lain;[242]Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede,[243]25For fear ye should be tain.Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',Bid hir cum here wi speid:If ye refuse my heigh command,Ill gar your body bleid.30Gae bid hir take this gay mantèl,'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;[244]Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,And bring nane bot hir lain:And there it is, a silken sarke,35Her ain hand sewd the sleive;And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,Speir nae bauld barons leave.Yes, I will gae your black errand,Though it be to your cost;40Sen ye by me will nae be warn'd,In it ye sall find frost.The baron he is a man of might,He neir could bide to taunt,As ye will see before its nicht,45How sma' ye hae to vaunt.And sen I maun your errand rinSae sair against my will,I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,It sall be done for ill.50[And quhen he came to broken brigue,He bent his bow and swam;And quhen he came to grass growing,Set down his feet and ran.And quhen he came to Barnards ha',55Would neither chap[245]nor ca':Bot set his bent bow to his breist,And lichtly lap the wa'.][246]He wauld nae tell the man his errand,Though he stude at the gait;60Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,Quhair they were set at meit.Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!My message winna waite;Dame, ye maun to the gude grene wod65Before that it be late.Ye're bidden tak this gay mantèl,Tis a' gowd bot the hem:[244]You maun gae to the gude grene wode,Ev'n by your sel alane.70And there it is, a silken sarke,Your ain hand sewd the sleive;Ye maun gae speik to Gill Morìce;Speir nae bauld barons leave.The lady stamped wi' hir foot,75And winked wi' hir ee;Bot a' that she coud say or do,Forbidden he wad nae bee.Its surely to my bow'r-womàn;It neir could be to me.80I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;I trow that ye be she.Then up and spack the wylie nurse,(The bairn upon hir knee)If it be cum frae Gill Morice,85It's deir welcum to mee.Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse,Sae loud I heird ye lee;[247]I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;I trow ye be nae shee.90Then up and spack the bauld baròn,An angry man was hee;He's tain the table wi' his foot,Sae has he wi' his knee;Till siller cup and 'mazer'[248]dish95In flinders he gard flee.[249]Gae bring a robe of your clidìng,[250]That hings upon the pin;And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,And speik wi' your lemmàn.100O bide at hame, now lord Barnàrd,I warde ye bide at hame;Neir wyte[251]a man for violence,That neir wate[252]ye wi' nane.Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode,105He whistled and he sang':O what mean a' the folk comìng,My mother tarries lang.[His hair was like the threeds of gold,Drawne frae Minervas loome:110His lipps like roses drapping dew,His breath was a' perfume.His brow was like the mountain snaeGilt by the morning beam:His cheeks like living roses glow:115His een like azure stream.The boy was clad in robes of grene,Sweete as the infant spring:And like the mavis on the bush,He gart the vallies ring.]120The baron came to the grene wode,Wi' mickle dule and care,And there he first spied Gill MorìceKameing his yellow hair:[That sweetly wavd around his face,125That face beyond compare:He sang sae sweet it might dispel,A' rage but fell despair.][253]Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morìce,My lady loed thee weel,130The fairest part of my bodieIs blacker than thy heel.Yet neir the less now, Gill Morìce,For a' thy great beautiè,Ye's rew the day ye eir was born;135That head sall gae wi' me.Now he has drawn his trusty brand,And slaited on the strae;[254]And thro' Gill Morice' fair bodyHe's gar cauld iron gae.140And he has tain Gill Morice' headAnd set it on a speir;The meanest man in a' his trainHas gotten that head to bear.And he has tain Gill Morice up,145Laid him across his steid,And brocht him to his painted bowrAnd laid him on a bed.The lady sat on castil wa',Beheld baith dale and doun;150And there she saw Gill Morice' headCum trailing to the toun.Far better I loe that bluidy head,Both and that yellow hair,Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands,155As they lig here and thair.And she has tain her Gill Morice,And kissd baith mouth and chin:I was once as fow of Gill Morice,As the hip is o' the stean.[255]160I got ye in my father's house,Wi' mickle sin and shame;I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,Under the heavy rain.Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,165And fondly seen thee sleip;But now I gae about thy grave,The saut tears for to weip.And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,And syne his bluidy chin:170O better I loe my Gill MoriceThan a' my kith and kin!Away, away, ye ill womàn,And an il deith mait ye dee:Gin I had kend he'd bin your son,175He'd neir bin slain for mee.[Obraid me not, my lord Barnard!Obraid me not for shame!Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart!And put me out o' pain.180Since nothing bot Gill Morice headThy jelous rage could quell,Let that saim hand now tak hir life,That neir to thee did ill.To me nae after days nor nichts185Will eir be saft or kind;I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,And greet till I am blind.Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,Seek not your death frae mee;190I rather lourd it had been my selThan eather him or thee.With waefo wae I hear your plaint;Sair, sair I rew the deid,That eir this cursed hand of mine195Had gard his body bleid.Dry up your tears, my winsome dame,Ye neir can heal the wound;Ye see his head upon the speir,His heart's blude on the ground.200I curse the hand that did the deid,The heart that thocht the ill;The feet that bore me wi' silk speid,The comely youth to kill.I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,205As gin he were mine ain;I'll neir forget the dreiry dayOn which the youth was slain.]

Gil Morrice was an erlès son,His name it waxed wide;It was nae for his great richès,Nor yet his mickle pride;Bot it was for a lady gay,5That livd on Carron side.

Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,That will win hose and shoen;That will gae to lord Barnards ha',And bid his lady cum?10And ye maun rin my errand, Willie;[241]And ye may rin wi' pride;Quhen other boys gae on their foot,On horse-back ye sall ride.

O no! Oh no! my master dear!15I dare nae for my life;I'll no gae to the bauld baròns,For to triest furth his wife.My bird Willie, my boy Willie;My dear Willie, he sayd:20How can ye strive against the stream?For I sall be obeyd.

Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,In grene wod ye're your lain;[242]Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede,[243]25For fear ye should be tain.Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',Bid hir cum here wi speid:If ye refuse my heigh command,Ill gar your body bleid.30

Gae bid hir take this gay mantèl,'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;[244]Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,And bring nane bot hir lain:And there it is, a silken sarke,35Her ain hand sewd the sleive;And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,Speir nae bauld barons leave.

Yes, I will gae your black errand,Though it be to your cost;40Sen ye by me will nae be warn'd,In it ye sall find frost.The baron he is a man of might,He neir could bide to taunt,As ye will see before its nicht,45How sma' ye hae to vaunt.

And sen I maun your errand rinSae sair against my will,I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,It sall be done for ill.50[And quhen he came to broken brigue,He bent his bow and swam;And quhen he came to grass growing,Set down his feet and ran.

And quhen he came to Barnards ha',55Would neither chap[245]nor ca':Bot set his bent bow to his breist,And lichtly lap the wa'.][246]He wauld nae tell the man his errand,Though he stude at the gait;60Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,Quhair they were set at meit.

Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!My message winna waite;Dame, ye maun to the gude grene wod65Before that it be late.Ye're bidden tak this gay mantèl,Tis a' gowd bot the hem:[244]You maun gae to the gude grene wode,Ev'n by your sel alane.70

And there it is, a silken sarke,Your ain hand sewd the sleive;Ye maun gae speik to Gill Morìce;Speir nae bauld barons leave.The lady stamped wi' hir foot,75And winked wi' hir ee;Bot a' that she coud say or do,Forbidden he wad nae bee.

Its surely to my bow'r-womàn;It neir could be to me.80I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;I trow that ye be she.Then up and spack the wylie nurse,(The bairn upon hir knee)If it be cum frae Gill Morice,85It's deir welcum to mee.

Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse,Sae loud I heird ye lee;[247]I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;I trow ye be nae shee.90Then up and spack the bauld baròn,An angry man was hee;He's tain the table wi' his foot,Sae has he wi' his knee;Till siller cup and 'mazer'[248]dish95In flinders he gard flee.[249]

Gae bring a robe of your clidìng,[250]That hings upon the pin;And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,And speik wi' your lemmàn.100O bide at hame, now lord Barnàrd,I warde ye bide at hame;Neir wyte[251]a man for violence,That neir wate[252]ye wi' nane.

Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode,105He whistled and he sang':O what mean a' the folk comìng,My mother tarries lang.[His hair was like the threeds of gold,Drawne frae Minervas loome:110His lipps like roses drapping dew,His breath was a' perfume.

His brow was like the mountain snaeGilt by the morning beam:His cheeks like living roses glow:115His een like azure stream.The boy was clad in robes of grene,Sweete as the infant spring:And like the mavis on the bush,He gart the vallies ring.]120

The baron came to the grene wode,Wi' mickle dule and care,And there he first spied Gill MorìceKameing his yellow hair:[That sweetly wavd around his face,125That face beyond compare:He sang sae sweet it might dispel,A' rage but fell despair.][253]

Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morìce,My lady loed thee weel,130The fairest part of my bodieIs blacker than thy heel.Yet neir the less now, Gill Morìce,For a' thy great beautiè,Ye's rew the day ye eir was born;135That head sall gae wi' me.

Now he has drawn his trusty brand,And slaited on the strae;[254]And thro' Gill Morice' fair bodyHe's gar cauld iron gae.140And he has tain Gill Morice' headAnd set it on a speir;The meanest man in a' his trainHas gotten that head to bear.

And he has tain Gill Morice up,145Laid him across his steid,And brocht him to his painted bowrAnd laid him on a bed.The lady sat on castil wa',Beheld baith dale and doun;150And there she saw Gill Morice' headCum trailing to the toun.

Far better I loe that bluidy head,Both and that yellow hair,Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands,155As they lig here and thair.And she has tain her Gill Morice,And kissd baith mouth and chin:I was once as fow of Gill Morice,As the hip is o' the stean.[255]160

I got ye in my father's house,Wi' mickle sin and shame;I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,Under the heavy rain.Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,165And fondly seen thee sleip;But now I gae about thy grave,The saut tears for to weip.

And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,And syne his bluidy chin:170O better I loe my Gill MoriceThan a' my kith and kin!Away, away, ye ill womàn,And an il deith mait ye dee:Gin I had kend he'd bin your son,175He'd neir bin slain for mee.

[Obraid me not, my lord Barnard!Obraid me not for shame!Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart!And put me out o' pain.180Since nothing bot Gill Morice headThy jelous rage could quell,Let that saim hand now tak hir life,That neir to thee did ill.

To me nae after days nor nichts185Will eir be saft or kind;I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,And greet till I am blind.Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,Seek not your death frae mee;190I rather lourd it had been my selThan eather him or thee.

With waefo wae I hear your plaint;Sair, sair I rew the deid,That eir this cursed hand of mine195Had gard his body bleid.Dry up your tears, my winsome dame,Ye neir can heal the wound;Ye see his head upon the speir,His heart's blude on the ground.200

I curse the hand that did the deid,The heart that thocht the ill;The feet that bore me wi' silk speid,The comely youth to kill.I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,205As gin he were mine ain;I'll neir forget the dreiry dayOn which the youth was slain.]

[Thefollowing is copied from the Folio MS. (ed. H. & F. vol. 2. pp. 502-506.)

Childe Maurice hunted ithe siluen wood,he hunted itt round about,& noebodye that he ffound therin,nor none there was with-out.4& he tooke his siluer combe in his hand,to kembe his yellow lockes;he sayes, "come hither, thou litle ffoot page,that runneth lowlye by my knee;8ffor thou shalt goe to Iohn stewards wiffe& pray her speake with mee."& as itt ffalls out many times,as knotts beene knitt on a kell,12or Marchant men gone to Leeue Londoneither to buy ware or sell,"I, and greete thou doe that Ladye well,euer soe well ffroe mee,—16And as itt ffalles out many timesas any hart can thinke,"as schoole masters are in any schoole housewritting with pen and Iinke,—20ffor if I might, as well as shee may,this night I wold with her speake."& heere I send her a mantle of greene,as greene as any grasse,24& bidd her come to the siluer woodto hunt with Child Maurice;"& there I send her a ring of gold,a ring of precyous stone,28& bidd her come to the siluer wood;let ffor no kind of man."one while this litle boy he yode,another while he ran;32vntill he came to Iohn Stewards hall,I-wis he neuer blan.& of nurture the child had good;hee ran vp hall & bower ffree,36& when he came to this Lady ffaire,sayes, "god you saue and see!"I am come ffrom Chιld Maurice,a message vnto thee;40& Child Maurice, he greetes you well,& euer soe well ffrom mee."& as itt ffalls out oftentimes,as knotts beene knitt on a kell,44or Marchant men gone to leeue London,either ffor to buy ware or sell,"& as oftentimes he greetes you wellas any hart can thinke,48or schoole masters in any schoolewryting with pen and inke;"& heere he sends a Mantle of greene,as greene as any grasse,52& he bidds you come to the siluer wood,to hunt with Child Maurice."& heere he sends you a ring of gold,a ring of the precyous stone,56he prayes you to come to the siluer wood,let ffor no kind of man.""now peace, now peace, thou litle ffootpage,ffor Christes sake, I pray thee!60ffor if my lord heare one of these words,thou must be hanged hye!"Iohn steward stood vnder the Castle wall,& he wrote the words euerye one,64& he called vnto his horskeeper,"make readye you my steede!"I, and soe hee did to his Chamberlaine,"make readye then my weede!"68& he cast a lease[256]vpon his backe,& he rode to the siluer wood;& there he sought all about,about the siluer wood,72& there he ffound him Child Mauricesitting vpon a blocke,with a siluer combe in his handkembing his yellow locke.76he sayes, "how now, how now, Child Maurice?alacke! how may this bee?"but then stood vp him Child Maurice,& sayd these words trulye:80"I doe not know your Ladye," he said,"if that I doe her see.""ffor thou hast sent her loue tokens,more now then 2 or 3;84"ffor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene,as greene as any grasse,& bade her come to the siluer woodeto hunt with Child Maurice;88"& thou [hast] sent her a ring of gold,a ring of precyous stone,& bade her come to the siluer wood,let ffor noe kind of man.92"and by my ffaith, now, Child Maurice,the tone of vs shall dye!""Now be my troth," sayd Child Maurice,"& that shall not be I."96but hee pulled forth a bright browne sword& dryed itt on the grasse,& soe ffast he smote att Iohn Steward,I-wisse he neuer rest.100then hee pulled fforth his bright browne sword,& dryed itt on his sleeue;& the ffirst good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke,Child Maurice head he did cleeue;104& he pricked itt on his swords poynt,went singing there beside,& he rode till he came to that Ladye ffairewheras this ladye Lyed;108and sayes "dost thou know Child Maurice headif that thou dost itt see?& lapp itt soft, & kisse itt offt,ffor thou louedst him better then mee."112but when shee looked on Child Maurice headshee neuer spake words but 3,"I neuer beare no Child but one,& you haue slaine him trulye."116sayes, "wicked by my merry men all,I gaue Meate, drinke, & Clothe!but cold they not haue holden mewhen I was in all that wrath?120"ffor I haue slaine one of the curteouse[s]t Knightsthat euer bestrode a steed!soe haue I done one [of] the fairest Ladyesthat euer ware womans weede!"124

Childe Maurice hunted ithe siluen wood,he hunted itt round about,& noebodye that he ffound therin,nor none there was with-out.4

& he tooke his siluer combe in his hand,to kembe his yellow lockes;he sayes, "come hither, thou litle ffoot page,that runneth lowlye by my knee;8ffor thou shalt goe to Iohn stewards wiffe& pray her speake with mee.

"& as itt ffalls out many times,as knotts beene knitt on a kell,12or Marchant men gone to Leeue Londoneither to buy ware or sell,

"I, and greete thou doe that Ladye well,euer soe well ffroe mee,—16And as itt ffalles out many timesas any hart can thinke,

"as schoole masters are in any schoole housewritting with pen and Iinke,—20ffor if I might, as well as shee may,this night I wold with her speake.

"& heere I send her a mantle of greene,as greene as any grasse,24& bidd her come to the siluer woodto hunt with Child Maurice;

"& there I send her a ring of gold,a ring of precyous stone,28& bidd her come to the siluer wood;let ffor no kind of man."

one while this litle boy he yode,another while he ran;32vntill he came to Iohn Stewards hall,I-wis he neuer blan.

& of nurture the child had good;hee ran vp hall & bower ffree,36& when he came to this Lady ffaire,sayes, "god you saue and see!

"I am come ffrom Chιld Maurice,a message vnto thee;40& Child Maurice, he greetes you well,& euer soe well ffrom mee.

"& as itt ffalls out oftentimes,as knotts beene knitt on a kell,44or Marchant men gone to leeue London,either ffor to buy ware or sell,

"& as oftentimes he greetes you wellas any hart can thinke,48or schoole masters in any schoolewryting with pen and inke;

"& heere he sends a Mantle of greene,as greene as any grasse,52& he bidds you come to the siluer wood,to hunt with Child Maurice.

"& heere he sends you a ring of gold,a ring of the precyous stone,56he prayes you to come to the siluer wood,let ffor no kind of man."

"now peace, now peace, thou litle ffootpage,ffor Christes sake, I pray thee!60ffor if my lord heare one of these words,thou must be hanged hye!"

Iohn steward stood vnder the Castle wall,& he wrote the words euerye one,64& he called vnto his horskeeper,"make readye you my steede!"I, and soe hee did to his Chamberlaine,"make readye then my weede!"68

& he cast a lease[256]vpon his backe,& he rode to the siluer wood;& there he sought all about,about the siluer wood,72

& there he ffound him Child Mauricesitting vpon a blocke,with a siluer combe in his handkembing his yellow locke.76

he sayes, "how now, how now, Child Maurice?alacke! how may this bee?"but then stood vp him Child Maurice,& sayd these words trulye:80

"I doe not know your Ladye," he said,"if that I doe her see.""ffor thou hast sent her loue tokens,more now then 2 or 3;84

"ffor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene,as greene as any grasse,& bade her come to the siluer woodeto hunt with Child Maurice;88

"& thou [hast] sent her a ring of gold,a ring of precyous stone,& bade her come to the siluer wood,let ffor noe kind of man.92

"and by my ffaith, now, Child Maurice,the tone of vs shall dye!""Now be my troth," sayd Child Maurice,"& that shall not be I."96

but hee pulled forth a bright browne sword& dryed itt on the grasse,& soe ffast he smote att Iohn Steward,I-wisse he neuer rest.100

then hee pulled fforth his bright browne sword,& dryed itt on his sleeue;& the ffirst good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke,Child Maurice head he did cleeue;104

& he pricked itt on his swords poynt,went singing there beside,& he rode till he came to that Ladye ffairewheras this ladye Lyed;108

and sayes "dost thou know Child Maurice headif that thou dost itt see?& lapp itt soft, & kisse itt offt,ffor thou louedst him better then mee."112

but when shee looked on Child Maurice headshee neuer spake words but 3,"I neuer beare no Child but one,& you haue slaine him trulye."116

sayes, "wicked by my merry men all,I gaue Meate, drinke, & Clothe!but cold they not haue holden mewhen I was in all that wrath?120

"ffor I haue slaine one of the curteouse[s]t Knightsthat euer bestrode a steed!soe haue I done one [of] the fairest Ladyesthat euer ware womans weede!"124

ffins]

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