C

Motherwell's MS., p. 443.

1Word has come to May Margerie,In her bower where she sat:'You are bid come to good green-wood,To make your love a shirt.'2'I wonder much,' said May Margerie,'At this message to me;There is not a month gone of this yearBut I have made him three.'3Then out did speak her mother dear,A wise woman was she;Said, Stay at home, my daughter May,They seek to murder thee.4'O I'll cast off my gloves, mother,And hang them up, I say;If I come never back again,They will mind you on May.5'Go saddle my horseback,' she said,'It's quick as ever you may,And we will ride to good green-wood;It is a pleasant day.'6And when she came to good green-wood,It's through it they did ride;Then up did start him Hind Henry,Just at the lady's side.7Says, Stop, O stop, you May Margerie,Just stop I say to thee;The boy that leads your bridle reinsShall see you red and blue.8It's out he drew a long, long brand,And stroked it ower a strae,And through and through that lady's sidesHe made the cauld weapon gae.9Says, Take you that now, May Margerie,Just take you that from me,Because you love Brown Robin,And never would love me.10There was less pity for that lady,When she was lying dead,As was for her bony infant boy,Lay swathed amang her bleed.11The boy fled home with all his might,The tear into his ee:'They have slain my lady in the wood,With fear I'm like to die.'12Her sister's ran into the wood,With greater grief and care,Sighing and sobbing all the way,Tearing her cloaths and hair.13Says, I'll take up that fair infant,And lull him on my sleeve;Altho his father should wish me woe,His mother to me was leeve.14Now she has taken the infant up,And she has brought him hame,And she has called him Brown Robin,That was his father's name.15And when he did grow up a bit,She put him to the lair,And of all the youths was at that schoolNone could with him compare.16And it fell once upon a dayA playtime it was come,And when the rest went from the school,Each one to their own home,17He hied him unto good green-wood,And leapt from tree to tree;It was to pull a hollin wand,To play his ownself wi.18And when he thus had passed his time,To go home he was fain,He chanced to meet him Hind Henry,Where his mother was slain.19'O how is this,' the youth cried out,'If it to you is known,How all this wood is growing grass,And on that small spot grows none?'20'Since you do wonder, bonnie boy,I shall tell you anon;That is indeed the very spotI killed your mother in.'21He catched hold of Henry's brand,And stroked it ower a strae,And thro and thro Hind Henry's sidesHe made the cauld metal gae.22Says, Take you that, O Hind Henry,O take you that from me,For killing of my mother dear,And her not hurting thee.

1Word has come to May Margerie,In her bower where she sat:'You are bid come to good green-wood,To make your love a shirt.'

2'I wonder much,' said May Margerie,'At this message to me;There is not a month gone of this yearBut I have made him three.'

3Then out did speak her mother dear,A wise woman was she;Said, Stay at home, my daughter May,They seek to murder thee.

4'O I'll cast off my gloves, mother,And hang them up, I say;If I come never back again,They will mind you on May.

5'Go saddle my horseback,' she said,'It's quick as ever you may,And we will ride to good green-wood;It is a pleasant day.'

6And when she came to good green-wood,It's through it they did ride;Then up did start him Hind Henry,Just at the lady's side.

7Says, Stop, O stop, you May Margerie,Just stop I say to thee;The boy that leads your bridle reinsShall see you red and blue.

8It's out he drew a long, long brand,And stroked it ower a strae,And through and through that lady's sidesHe made the cauld weapon gae.

9Says, Take you that now, May Margerie,Just take you that from me,Because you love Brown Robin,And never would love me.

10There was less pity for that lady,When she was lying dead,As was for her bony infant boy,Lay swathed amang her bleed.

11The boy fled home with all his might,The tear into his ee:'They have slain my lady in the wood,With fear I'm like to die.'

12Her sister's ran into the wood,With greater grief and care,Sighing and sobbing all the way,Tearing her cloaths and hair.

13Says, I'll take up that fair infant,And lull him on my sleeve;Altho his father should wish me woe,His mother to me was leeve.

14Now she has taken the infant up,And she has brought him hame,And she has called him Brown Robin,That was his father's name.

15And when he did grow up a bit,She put him to the lair,And of all the youths was at that schoolNone could with him compare.

16And it fell once upon a dayA playtime it was come,And when the rest went from the school,Each one to their own home,

17He hied him unto good green-wood,And leapt from tree to tree;It was to pull a hollin wand,To play his ownself wi.

18And when he thus had passed his time,To go home he was fain,He chanced to meet him Hind Henry,Where his mother was slain.

19'O how is this,' the youth cried out,'If it to you is known,How all this wood is growing grass,And on that small spot grows none?'

20'Since you do wonder, bonnie boy,I shall tell you anon;That is indeed the very spotI killed your mother in.'

21He catched hold of Henry's brand,And stroked it ower a strae,And thro and thro Hind Henry's sidesHe made the cauld metal gae.

22Says, Take you that, O Hind Henry,O take you that from me,For killing of my mother dear,And her not hurting thee.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 231.

1When spring appeard in all its bloom,And flowers grew fresh and green,As May-a-Roe she set her down,To lay gowd on her seam.2But word has come to that lady,At evening when 't was dark,To meet her love in gude greenwood,And bring to him a sark.3'That's strange to me' said May-a-Roe,'For how can a' this be?A month or twa is scarcely pastSin I sent my lovie three.'4Then May-a-Roe lap on her steed,And quickly rade away;She hadna ridden but hauf a mile,Till she heard a voice to say:5'Turn back, turn back, ye ventrous maid,Nae farther must ye go;For the boy that leads your bridle reinLeads you to your overthrow.'6But a' these words she neer did mind,But fast awa did ride;And up it starts him Hynde Henry,Just fair by her right side.7'Ye'll tarry here, perfidious maid,For by my hand ye 'se dee;Ye married my brother, Brown Robin,Whan ye shoud hae married me.'8'O mercy, mercy, Hynde Henry,O mercy have on me!For I am eight months gane wi child,Therefore ye'll lat me be.'9'Nae mercy is for thee, fair maid,Nae mercy is for thee;You married my brother, Brown Robin,Whan ye shoud hae married me.'10'Ye will bring here the bread, Henry,And I will bring the wine,And ye will drink to your ain love,And I will drink to mine.'11'I winna bring here the bread, fair maid,Nor yet shall ye the wine,Nor will I drink to my ain love,Nor yet shall ye to thine.'12'O mercy, mercy, Hynde Henry,Until I lighter be!Hae mercy on your brother's bairn,Tho ye hae nane for me.'13'Nae mercy is for thee, fair maid,Nae mercy is for thee;Such mercy unto you I'll gieAs what ye gae to me.'14Then he's taen out a trusty brand,And stroakd it ower a strae,And thro and thro her fair bodyHe's gart cauld iron gae.15Nae meen was made for that lady,For she was lying dead;But a' was for her bonny bairn,Lay spartling by her side.16Then he's taen up the bonny bairn,Handled him tenderlie,And said, Ye are o my ain kin,Tho your mother ill used me.17He's washen him at the crystal stream,And rowd him in a weed,And namd him after a bold robberWho was calld Robin Hood.18Then brought to the next borough's town,And gae him nurses three;He grew as big in ae year auldAs some boys woud in three.19Then he was sent to guid squeel-house,To learn how to thrive;He learnd as muckle in ae year's timeAs some boys would in five.20But I wonder, I wonder,' said little Robin,'Gin eer a woman bare me;For mony a lady spiers for the rest,But nae ane spiers for me.21'I wonder, I wonder,' said little Robin,'Were I of woman born;Whan ladies my comrades do caress,They look at me wi scorn.'22It fell upon an evening-tide,Was ae night by it lane,Whan a' the boys frae guid squeel-houseWere merrily coming hame,23Robin parted frae the rest,He wishd to be alane;And when his comrades he dismist,To guid greenwood he's gane.24When he came to guid greenwood,He clamb frae tree to tree,To pou some o the finest leaves,For to divert him wi.25He hadna pu'd a leaf, a leaf,Nor brake a branch but ane,Till by it came him Hynde Henry,And bade him lat alane.26'You are too bauld a boy,' he said,'Sae impudent you be,As pu the leaves that's nae your ain,Or yet to touch the tree.'27'O mercy, mercy, gentleman,O mercy hae on me!For if that I offence hae done,It was unknown to me.'28'Nae boy comes here to guid greenwoodBut pays a fine to me;Your velvet coat, or shooting-bow,Which o them will ye gie?'29'My shooting-bow arches sae well,Wi it I canno part;Lest wer't to send a sharp arrowTo pierce you to the heart.'30He turnd him right and round about,His countenance did change:'Ye seem to be a boy right bauld;Why can ye talk sae strange?31'I'm sure ye are the bauldest boyThat ever I talkd wi;As for your mother, May-a-Roe,She was neer sae bauld to me.'32'O, if ye knew my mother,' he said,'That's very strange to me;And if that ye my mother knew,It's mair than I coud dee.'33'Sae well as I your mother knew,Ance my sweet-heart was she;Because to me she broke her vow,This maid was slain by me.'34'O, if ye slew my mother dear,As I trust ye make nae lie,I wyte ye never did the deedThat better paid shall be.'35'O mercy, mercy, little Robin,O mercy hae on me!''Sic mercy as ye pae my mother,Sic mercy I'll gie thee.36'Prepare yourself, perfidious man,For by my hand ye 'se dee;Now come's that bluidy butcher's endTook my mother frae me.'37Then he hae chosen a sharp arrow,That was baith keen and smart,And let it fly at Hynde Henry,And piercd him to the heart.38These news hae gaen thro Stirling town,Likewise thro Hunting-ha;At last it reachd the king's own court,Amang the nobles a'.39When the king got word o that,A light laugh then gae he,And he's sent for him little Robin,To come right speedilie.40He's putten on little Robin's headA ribbon and gowden crown,And made him ane o's finest knights,For the valour he had done.

1When spring appeard in all its bloom,And flowers grew fresh and green,As May-a-Roe she set her down,To lay gowd on her seam.

2But word has come to that lady,At evening when 't was dark,To meet her love in gude greenwood,And bring to him a sark.

3'That's strange to me' said May-a-Roe,'For how can a' this be?A month or twa is scarcely pastSin I sent my lovie three.'

4Then May-a-Roe lap on her steed,And quickly rade away;She hadna ridden but hauf a mile,Till she heard a voice to say:

5'Turn back, turn back, ye ventrous maid,Nae farther must ye go;For the boy that leads your bridle reinLeads you to your overthrow.'

6But a' these words she neer did mind,But fast awa did ride;And up it starts him Hynde Henry,Just fair by her right side.

7'Ye'll tarry here, perfidious maid,For by my hand ye 'se dee;Ye married my brother, Brown Robin,Whan ye shoud hae married me.'

8'O mercy, mercy, Hynde Henry,O mercy have on me!For I am eight months gane wi child,Therefore ye'll lat me be.'

9'Nae mercy is for thee, fair maid,Nae mercy is for thee;You married my brother, Brown Robin,Whan ye shoud hae married me.'

10'Ye will bring here the bread, Henry,And I will bring the wine,And ye will drink to your ain love,And I will drink to mine.'

11'I winna bring here the bread, fair maid,Nor yet shall ye the wine,Nor will I drink to my ain love,Nor yet shall ye to thine.'

12'O mercy, mercy, Hynde Henry,Until I lighter be!Hae mercy on your brother's bairn,Tho ye hae nane for me.'

13'Nae mercy is for thee, fair maid,Nae mercy is for thee;Such mercy unto you I'll gieAs what ye gae to me.'

14Then he's taen out a trusty brand,And stroakd it ower a strae,And thro and thro her fair bodyHe's gart cauld iron gae.

15Nae meen was made for that lady,For she was lying dead;But a' was for her bonny bairn,Lay spartling by her side.

16Then he's taen up the bonny bairn,Handled him tenderlie,And said, Ye are o my ain kin,Tho your mother ill used me.

17He's washen him at the crystal stream,And rowd him in a weed,And namd him after a bold robberWho was calld Robin Hood.

18Then brought to the next borough's town,And gae him nurses three;He grew as big in ae year auldAs some boys woud in three.

19Then he was sent to guid squeel-house,To learn how to thrive;He learnd as muckle in ae year's timeAs some boys would in five.

20But I wonder, I wonder,' said little Robin,'Gin eer a woman bare me;For mony a lady spiers for the rest,But nae ane spiers for me.

21'I wonder, I wonder,' said little Robin,'Were I of woman born;Whan ladies my comrades do caress,They look at me wi scorn.'

22It fell upon an evening-tide,Was ae night by it lane,Whan a' the boys frae guid squeel-houseWere merrily coming hame,

23Robin parted frae the rest,He wishd to be alane;And when his comrades he dismist,To guid greenwood he's gane.

24When he came to guid greenwood,He clamb frae tree to tree,To pou some o the finest leaves,For to divert him wi.

25He hadna pu'd a leaf, a leaf,Nor brake a branch but ane,Till by it came him Hynde Henry,And bade him lat alane.

26'You are too bauld a boy,' he said,'Sae impudent you be,As pu the leaves that's nae your ain,Or yet to touch the tree.'

27'O mercy, mercy, gentleman,O mercy hae on me!For if that I offence hae done,It was unknown to me.'

28'Nae boy comes here to guid greenwoodBut pays a fine to me;Your velvet coat, or shooting-bow,Which o them will ye gie?'

29'My shooting-bow arches sae well,Wi it I canno part;Lest wer't to send a sharp arrowTo pierce you to the heart.'

30He turnd him right and round about,His countenance did change:'Ye seem to be a boy right bauld;Why can ye talk sae strange?

31'I'm sure ye are the bauldest boyThat ever I talkd wi;As for your mother, May-a-Roe,She was neer sae bauld to me.'

32'O, if ye knew my mother,' he said,'That's very strange to me;And if that ye my mother knew,It's mair than I coud dee.'

33'Sae well as I your mother knew,Ance my sweet-heart was she;Because to me she broke her vow,This maid was slain by me.'

34'O, if ye slew my mother dear,As I trust ye make nae lie,I wyte ye never did the deedThat better paid shall be.'

35'O mercy, mercy, little Robin,O mercy hae on me!''Sic mercy as ye pae my mother,Sic mercy I'll gie thee.

36'Prepare yourself, perfidious man,For by my hand ye 'se dee;Now come's that bluidy butcher's endTook my mother frae me.'

37Then he hae chosen a sharp arrow,That was baith keen and smart,And let it fly at Hynde Henry,And piercd him to the heart.

38These news hae gaen thro Stirling town,Likewise thro Hunting-ha;At last it reachd the king's own court,Amang the nobles a'.

39When the king got word o that,A light laugh then gae he,And he's sent for him little Robin,To come right speedilie.

40He's putten on little Robin's headA ribbon and gowden crown,And made him ane o's finest knights,For the valour he had done.

Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 222.

* * * * *1'D'ye mind, d'ye mind, Lady Margerie,When we handed round the beer?Seven times I fainted for your sake,And you never dropt a tear.2'D'ye mind, d'ye mind, Lady Margerie,When we handed round the wine?Seven times I fainted for your sake,And you never fainted once for mine.'* * * * *3And he's taen the baby out of her wombAnd thrown it upon a thorn:'Let the wind blow east, let the wind blow west,The cradle will rock its lone.'* * * * *4But when brother Henry's cruel brandHad done the bloody deed,The silver-buttons flew off his coat,And his nose began to bleed.* * * * *5'O I have been killing in the silver woodWhat will breed mickle woe;I have been killing in the silver woodA dawdy and a doe.'* * * * *

* * * * *

1'D'ye mind, d'ye mind, Lady Margerie,When we handed round the beer?Seven times I fainted for your sake,And you never dropt a tear.

2'D'ye mind, d'ye mind, Lady Margerie,When we handed round the wine?Seven times I fainted for your sake,And you never fainted once for mine.'

* * * * *

3And he's taen the baby out of her wombAnd thrown it upon a thorn:'Let the wind blow east, let the wind blow west,The cradle will rock its lone.'

* * * * *

4But when brother Henry's cruel brandHad done the bloody deed,The silver-buttons flew off his coat,And his nose began to bleed.

* * * * *

5'O I have been killing in the silver woodWhat will breed mickle woe;I have been killing in the silver woodA dawdy and a doe.'

* * * * *

A. a.

104. piteouus.

12. he sharpd his broad-sword lang.14. An errand.22. quickly as ye.31. boy has.33. ladye's bower.41. oromitted.42. red sun's on.43, 4.wanting.51, 2.as43, 4: I doubt ye'll.53, 4.wanting.6.wanting.71. had na.82. there bye.94. no.112. were born.113. Full weel I ken your auld.122. ye need na.123. babe in gude.131. on Lillie Flower.141. for Lillie Flower.142. Where she.143. bonny bairn.144. That lay.153. Three to sleep and three to wake.161. he bred.163. And he thought no eye could ever see.171. O so it fell upon a day.172. When hunting they might be.173. Thatomitted.174. Beneath that green aik tree.

12. he sharpd his broad-sword lang.

14. An errand.

22. quickly as ye.

31. boy has.

33. ladye's bower.

41. oromitted.

42. red sun's on.

43, 4.wanting.

51, 2.as43, 4: I doubt ye'll.

53, 4.wanting.

6.wanting.

71. had na.

82. there bye.

94. no.

112. were born.

113. Full weel I ken your auld.

122. ye need na.

123. babe in gude.

131. on Lillie Flower.

141. for Lillie Flower.

142. Where she.

143. bonny bairn.

144. That lay.

153. Three to sleep and three to wake.

161. he bred.

163. And he thought no eye could ever see.

171. O so it fell upon a day.

172. When hunting they might be.

173. Thatomitted.

174. Beneath that green aik tree.

18-20.And mony were the green wood flowersUpon the grave that grew,And marvelld much that bonny boyTo see their lovely hue.'What's paler than the prymrose wan?What's redder than the rose?What's fairer than the lilye flowerOn this wee know that grows?'O out and answered Jellon Grame,And he spake hastilie;'Your mother was a fairer flower,And lies beneath this tree.'More pale she was, when she sought my grace,Than prymrose pale and wan,And redder than rose her ruddy heart's blood,That down my broad-sword ran.'

18-20.And mony were the green wood flowersUpon the grave that grew,And marvelld much that bonny boyTo see their lovely hue.

'What's paler than the prymrose wan?What's redder than the rose?What's fairer than the lilye flowerOn this wee know that grows?'

O out and answered Jellon Grame,And he spake hastilie;'Your mother was a fairer flower,And lies beneath this tree.

'More pale she was, when she sought my grace,Than prymrose pale and wan,And redder than rose her ruddy heart's blood,That down my broad-sword ran.'

221. Lie ye.222. gang you wi.

221. Lie ye.

222. gang you wi.

121. sisters ran: intoaltered tounto.

A.'Fair Mary of Wellington,' Lovely Jenny's Garland, three copies, as early as 1775.B.'Lady Mazery,' Herd's MSS:a, I, 186;b, II, 89.C.'The Bonny Earl of Livingston,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 5.D.'The Laird o Livingstone,' Dr John Hill Burton's MS., No 2.E.'Mild Mary,' Motherwell's MS., p. 123.F.'Lord Darlington.'a.Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 183.b.The Borderer's Table Book, VII, 178.

A.'Fair Mary of Wellington,' Lovely Jenny's Garland, three copies, as early as 1775.

B.'Lady Mazery,' Herd's MSS:a, I, 186;b, II, 89.

C.'The Bonny Earl of Livingston,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 5.

D.'The Laird o Livingstone,' Dr John Hill Burton's MS., No 2.

E.'Mild Mary,' Motherwell's MS., p. 123.

F.'Lord Darlington.'a.Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 183.b.The Borderer's Table Book, VII, 178.

'Fair Mary of Wallington' was communicated to Bishop Percy, with other "old Scots Songs," in 1775, by Roger Halt, and presumably in a copy of the garland from which it is here printed.Awas given by Ritson, from an inferior edition, with corrections, and the title changed to 'Fair Mabel of Wallington,' in The Northumberland Garland, 1793, p. 38 of the reprint of Northern Garlands, 1809. Ritson's copy is repeated in Bell's Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 147, and in Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, VI, 141.

The story is very well preserved and very well told inA. All the seven sisters of a family are destined to die of their first child. Five having so died already, one of the remaining two expresses a resolution never to marry, since she is sure that she will go the way of the others. She is told that a knight has been there, asking for her hand. Then in three quarters of a year they may come to her burial. When her husband's mother welcomes her to her castle and bowers, the bride responds, under the operation of her melancholy conviction, I think they 'll soon be yours. At the end of three quarters of a year she sends messages to her family: to her mother to come to her sickening or her wake;[145]to her sister to remain in maidenhood, and escape the doom of the family. When the mother arrives the young wife is in extremities.[146]She gives rings to her mother, who is all to blame, gives rings to her husband, and with a razor opens her side, and takes out an heir for the house. InDwe are told that five boys had been cut from their mothers, Mary's sisters, before. InBthe remaining sister declares that no man shall ever lie by her side; but her mother says she shall marry though she live but three quarters of a year: so, nearly, inC.

A Breton ballad, 'Pontplancoat,'A, Luzel, I, 382,B, p. 386, exhibits such correspondences with the English and Scottish that we cannot hesitate to assume that it has the same source.

In the first version Pontplancoat marries Marguerite for his third wife. He is obliged by affairs to leave her, and has a dream which disturbs him so much that he returns home the same night. This dream is that his wife has been three days in travail, and it proves true. A spoon is put in the lady's mouth, an incision made in her right side, and a son taken out. This is Pontplancoat's third son, and each of them has been extracted from his mother's side. He has had three wives of thename of Marguerite, and they have all died in this way.

Marguerite, in the other version, is told by her mother that she is to marry Pontplancoat. Marguerite signifies her obedience, but Pontplancoat has already had four wives of her name, all of whom "had been opened," and she shall be the fifth. As before, Pontplancoat is obliged to go away, and during his absence he receives letters which inform him that his wife is in labor and that the chances are against a normal delivery. He returns instantly. The lady has been three days in labor. A silver ball is put into her mouth, her right side opened with a knife, and a son extracted. Pontplancoat has four sons besides, all of whom have been brought into the world in this way.

EnglishAis localized in Northumberland, and Mary made the wife of a Sir William Fenwick of Wellington. According to notes of Percy, he had not been able to find a Sir William Fenwick, lord of Wallington, with a wife of the name of Mary. Were a Sir William and Lady Mary Fenwick authenticable, a nice historical question would arise between them and some baron and baroness of the family Pontplancoat in Finistère, Brittany.

An extensively disseminated Scandinavian ballad has been assumed to be of kin with 'Mary of Wallington,' and in one version or another has resemblances which may possibly come from unity of origin, but the general likeness is certainly not striking. The published texts are:Norwegian, 'Maalfrí,' Bugge, Gamle norske Folkeviser, p. 122, No 25,A,B.Icelandic, 'Málfríðar kvæði,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, I, 208, No 24,A-D.Swedish, 'Herr Peder och Malfred,' Afzelius, I, 70, No 14.Danish,A, 'Esben og Malfred,' "Tragica, No 26," Danske Viser, III, 208, No 133;B,C, Kristensen, I, 232, No 87,A,B;D,E, 'Malfreds Død,' Kristensen, II, 232, No 69,A,B;F, 'Liden Malfreds Vise,' Feilberg, Fra Heden, p. 119;G, 'Herr Peder og Liden Malfred,' Berggreen's Danske Folkesange, 3d ed., p. 172, No 88. The Danish ballad is preserved in ten manuscripts, and Grundtvig possessed not less than twenty-two traditionary Danish versions and two Swedish, which he did not live to print.

The Norwegian ballad is most like, or least unlike, the English. Maalfrí, a king's only daughter, is married to Karl, king of England. It was spaed to her when she was yet a maid that she should die of her twelfth lying in; she has already born eleven children. The king purposing to leave her for a time, she reminds him of the prophecy. He defies spaewives and goes, but after three days dreams that Maalfrí's cloak is cut in two, that her hair is cut to bits, etc.; and this sends him home, when he learns that two sons have been cut from her side. He throws himself on his sword. Maalfrí, Malfred, is, in the other Norse ballads, also an only daughter, and dies in her twelfth child-birth, in all but IcelandicB,C,D, where the first is fatal to her. There are no other important diversities, and the resemblances in the details of the Norse and the English ballads are these two: the wife being fated to die of her first child in IcelandicB,C,D, and the Cæsarean operation in the Norwegian versions.

It is barely worth mentioning that there is also a German ballad, in which a maid (only eleven years old in most of the versions) begs her mother not to give her to a husband, because she will not live more than a year if married, and dies accordingly in child-birth: 'Hans Markgraf,' "Bothe, Frühlings-Almanach, 1806, p. 132," reprinted in Büsching und von der Hagen's Volkslieder, p. 30, Erlach, II, 136, Mittler, No 133; "Alle bei Gott die sich lieben," Wunderhorn, 1808, II, 250, Erlach, IV, 127, Mittler, No 128; Hoffmann und Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 12, No 5, Mittler, No 132. To these may be added 'Der Graf und die Bauerntochter,' Ditfurth, II, 8, No 9; 'Der Mutter Fluch,' Meinert, p. 246. In these last it is the mother who objects to the marriage, on account of her daughter's extreme youth.[147]

Lovely Jenny's Garland, three copies, as early as 1775, but without place or date.

1When we were silly sisters seven,sisters were so fair,Five of us were brave knights' wives,and died in childbed lair.2Up then spake Fair Mary,marry woud she nane;If ever she came in man's bed,the same gate wad she gang.3'Make no vows, Fair Mary,for fear they broken be;Here's been the Knight of Wallington,asking good will of thee.'4'If here's been the knight, mother,asking good will of me,Within three quarters of a yearyou may come bury me.'5When she came to Wallington,and into Wallington hall,There she spy'd her mother dear,walking about the wall.6'You're welcome, daughter dear,to thy castle and thy bowers;''I thank you kindly, mother,I hope they'll soon be yours.'7She had not been in Wallingtonthree quarters and a day,Till upon the ground she could not walk,she was a weary prey.8She had not been in Wallingtonthree quarters and a night,Till on the ground she coud not walk,she was a weary wight.9'Is there neer a boy in this town,who'll win hose and shun,That will run to fair Pudlington,and bid my mother come?'10Up then spake a little boy,near unto a-kin;'Full oft I have your errands gone,but now I will it run.'11Then she calld her waiting-maidto bring up bread and wine:'Eat and drink, my bonny boy,thou'll neer eat more of mine.12'Give my respects to my mother,[as] she sits in her chair of stone,And ask her how she likes the news,of seven to have but one.13['Give my respects to my mother,as she sits in her chair of oak,And bid her come to my sickening,or my merry lake-wake.]14'Give my love to my brotherWilliam, Ralph, and John,And to my sister Betty fair,and to her white as bone.15'And bid her keep her maidenhead,be sure make much on 't,For if eer she come in man's bed,the same gate will she gang.'16Away this little boy is gone,as fast as he could run;When he came where brigs were broke,he lay down and swum.17When he saw the lady, he said,Lord may your keeper be!'What news, my pretty boy,hast thou to tell to me?'18'Your daughter Mary orders me,as you sit in a chair of stone,To ask you how you like the news,of seven to have but one.19'Your daughter gives commands,as you sit in a chair of oak,And bids you come to her sickening,or her merry lake-wake.20'She gives command to her brotherWilliam, Ralph, and John,[And] to her sister Betty fair,and to her white as bone.21'She bids her keep her maidenhead,be sure make much on 't,For if eer she came in man's bed,the same gate woud she gang.'22She kickt the table with her foot,she kickt it with her knee,The silver plate into the fire,so far she made it flee.23Then she calld her waiting-maidto bring her riding-hood,So did she on her stable-groomto bring her riding-steed.24'Go saddle to me the black [the black,]go saddle to me the brown,Go saddle to me the swiftest steedthat eer rid [to] Wallington.'25When they came to Wallington,and into Wallington hall,There she spy'd her son Fenwick,walking about the wall.26'God save you, dear son,Lord may your keeper be!Where is my daughter fair,that used to walk with thee?'27He turnd his head round about,the tears did fill his ee:''T is a month,' he said, 'since shetook her chambers from me.'28She went on ...and there were in the hallFour and twenty ladies,letting the tears down fall.29Her daughter had a scopeinto her cheek and into her chin,All to keep her lifetill her dear mother came.30'Come take the rings off my fingers,the skin it is so white,And give them to my mother dear,for she was all the wite.31'Come take the rings off my fingers,the veins they are so red,Give them to Sir William Fenwick,I'm sure his heart will bleed.'32She took out a razorthat was both sharp and fine,And out of her left side has takenthe heir of Wallington.33There is a race in Wallington,and that I rue full sare;Tho the cradle it be full spread up,the bride-bed is left bare.

1When we were silly sisters seven,sisters were so fair,Five of us were brave knights' wives,and died in childbed lair.

2Up then spake Fair Mary,marry woud she nane;If ever she came in man's bed,the same gate wad she gang.

3'Make no vows, Fair Mary,for fear they broken be;Here's been the Knight of Wallington,asking good will of thee.'

4'If here's been the knight, mother,asking good will of me,Within three quarters of a yearyou may come bury me.'

5When she came to Wallington,and into Wallington hall,There she spy'd her mother dear,walking about the wall.

6'You're welcome, daughter dear,to thy castle and thy bowers;''I thank you kindly, mother,I hope they'll soon be yours.'

7She had not been in Wallingtonthree quarters and a day,Till upon the ground she could not walk,she was a weary prey.

8She had not been in Wallingtonthree quarters and a night,Till on the ground she coud not walk,she was a weary wight.

9'Is there neer a boy in this town,who'll win hose and shun,That will run to fair Pudlington,and bid my mother come?'

10Up then spake a little boy,near unto a-kin;'Full oft I have your errands gone,but now I will it run.'

11Then she calld her waiting-maidto bring up bread and wine:'Eat and drink, my bonny boy,thou'll neer eat more of mine.

12'Give my respects to my mother,[as] she sits in her chair of stone,And ask her how she likes the news,of seven to have but one.

13['Give my respects to my mother,as she sits in her chair of oak,And bid her come to my sickening,or my merry lake-wake.]

14'Give my love to my brotherWilliam, Ralph, and John,And to my sister Betty fair,and to her white as bone.

15'And bid her keep her maidenhead,be sure make much on 't,For if eer she come in man's bed,the same gate will she gang.'

16Away this little boy is gone,as fast as he could run;When he came where brigs were broke,he lay down and swum.

17When he saw the lady, he said,Lord may your keeper be!'What news, my pretty boy,hast thou to tell to me?'

18'Your daughter Mary orders me,as you sit in a chair of stone,To ask you how you like the news,of seven to have but one.

19'Your daughter gives commands,as you sit in a chair of oak,And bids you come to her sickening,or her merry lake-wake.

20'She gives command to her brotherWilliam, Ralph, and John,[And] to her sister Betty fair,and to her white as bone.

21'She bids her keep her maidenhead,be sure make much on 't,For if eer she came in man's bed,the same gate woud she gang.'

22She kickt the table with her foot,she kickt it with her knee,The silver plate into the fire,so far she made it flee.

23Then she calld her waiting-maidto bring her riding-hood,So did she on her stable-groomto bring her riding-steed.

24'Go saddle to me the black [the black,]go saddle to me the brown,Go saddle to me the swiftest steedthat eer rid [to] Wallington.'

25When they came to Wallington,and into Wallington hall,There she spy'd her son Fenwick,walking about the wall.

26'God save you, dear son,Lord may your keeper be!Where is my daughter fair,that used to walk with thee?'

27He turnd his head round about,the tears did fill his ee:''T is a month,' he said, 'since shetook her chambers from me.'

28She went on ...and there were in the hallFour and twenty ladies,letting the tears down fall.

29Her daughter had a scopeinto her cheek and into her chin,All to keep her lifetill her dear mother came.

30'Come take the rings off my fingers,the skin it is so white,And give them to my mother dear,for she was all the wite.

31'Come take the rings off my fingers,the veins they are so red,Give them to Sir William Fenwick,I'm sure his heart will bleed.'

32She took out a razorthat was both sharp and fine,And out of her left side has takenthe heir of Wallington.

33There is a race in Wallington,and that I rue full sare;Tho the cradle it be full spread up,the bride-bed is left bare.

Herd's MSS:a, I, 186;b, II, 89.

1'When we were sisters seven,An five of us deyd wi child,And there is nane but you and I, Mazery,And we'll go madens mild.'2But there came knights, and there came squiers,An knights of high degree;She pleasd hersel in Levieston,Thay wear a comly twa.3He has bought her rings for her fingers,And garlands for her hair,The broochis till her bosome braid;What wad my love ha mair?And he has brought her on to Livingston,And made her lady thear.4She had na been in LiveingstonA twelvemonth and a day,Till she was as big wi bairnAs ony lady could gae.5The knight he knocked his white fingers,The goude rings flew in twa:'Halls and bowers they shall go wastEre my bonny love gie awa!'6The knight he knocked his white fingers,The goude rings flew in foure:'Halls and bowers they shall go wasteEren my bonny lady gie it ore!'7The knight he knocked his white fingers,The lady[s] sewed and sung;It was to comfort Lady Mazery,But her life-days wear na long.8'O whare will I get a bonny boy,That will win both hoos and shoon,That will win his way to Little Snoddown,To my mother, the Queen?'9Up and stands a bonny boy,Goude yellow was his hair;I wish his mother mickle grace at him,And his trew-love mickle mare.10'Here am I a bonny boy,That will win baith hoos an shoon,That will win my way to Little Snoddown,To thy mother, the Queen.'11'Here is the rings frae my fingers,The garlonds frae my hair,The broches fray my bosom braid;Fray me she'll nere get mare.12'Here it is my weeding-goun,It is a' goude but the hem;Gi it to my sister Allen,For she is left now bird her lane.13'When you come whare brigs is broken,Ye'l bent your bow and swim;An when ye come whare green grass grows,Ye'l slack your shoon and run.14'But when you come to yon castle,Bide neither to chap nor ca,But you'l set your bent bow to your breast,And lightly loup the wa,And gin the porter be half-gate,Ye'll be ben throw the ha.'15O when he came whare brigs was broken,He bent his bow and swam;An when he came where green grass grows,He slackd his shoon an ran.16And when he came to yon castel,He stayed neither to chap no ca'l,But bent his bow unto his breast,And lightly lap the wa'l;And gin the porter was hafe-gate,He was ben throw the ha'l.17'O peace be to you, ladys a'l!As ye sit at your dineYe ha little word of Lady Mazerë,For she drees mickel pine.18'Here is the rings frae her fingers,The garlands frae her hair,The broches frae her bosome brade;Fray her ye'l nere get mare.19'Here it is her weeding-goun,It is a' goude but the hem;Ye'll ge it to her sister Allen,For she is left bird her lane.'20She ca'd the table wi her foot,And coped it wi her tae,Till siller cups an siller cansUnto the floor did gae.21'Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny boy,Ye wash, and come to dine;It does not fit a bonny boyHis errant for to tine.22'Ge saddle to me the black, the black,Ge saddle to me the brown,Ge saddle to me the swiftest steedThat ever rid frae a town.'23The first steed they saddled to her,He was the bonny black;He was a good steed, an a very good steed,But he tiyrd eer he wan the slack.24The next steed they saddled to her,He was the bonny brown;He was a good steed, an a very good steed,But he tiyird ere he wan the town.25The next steed they saddled to her,He was the bonny white;Fair fa the mair that fo'd the foleThat carried her to Mazeree['s] lear!26As she gaed in at Leivingston,Thair was na mickel pride;The scobs was in her lovely mouth,And the razer in her side.27'O them that marrys your daughter, lady,I think them but a foole;A married man at Martimass,An a widdow the next Yule!'28'O hold your toung now, Livingston,Let all your folly abee;I bear the burden in my breast,Mun suffer them to dee.'29Out an speaks her Bird Allen,For she spake ay through pride;'That man shall near be born,' she says,'That shall ly down by my side.'30'O hold your toung now, Bird Allen,Let all your folly abee;For you shall marry a man,' she says,'Tho ye shoud live but rathes three.'

1'When we were sisters seven,An five of us deyd wi child,And there is nane but you and I, Mazery,And we'll go madens mild.'

2But there came knights, and there came squiers,An knights of high degree;She pleasd hersel in Levieston,Thay wear a comly twa.

3He has bought her rings for her fingers,And garlands for her hair,The broochis till her bosome braid;What wad my love ha mair?And he has brought her on to Livingston,And made her lady thear.

4She had na been in LiveingstonA twelvemonth and a day,Till she was as big wi bairnAs ony lady could gae.

5The knight he knocked his white fingers,The goude rings flew in twa:'Halls and bowers they shall go wastEre my bonny love gie awa!'

6The knight he knocked his white fingers,The goude rings flew in foure:'Halls and bowers they shall go wasteEren my bonny lady gie it ore!'

7The knight he knocked his white fingers,The lady[s] sewed and sung;It was to comfort Lady Mazery,But her life-days wear na long.

8'O whare will I get a bonny boy,That will win both hoos and shoon,That will win his way to Little Snoddown,To my mother, the Queen?'

9Up and stands a bonny boy,Goude yellow was his hair;I wish his mother mickle grace at him,And his trew-love mickle mare.

10'Here am I a bonny boy,That will win baith hoos an shoon,That will win my way to Little Snoddown,To thy mother, the Queen.'

11'Here is the rings frae my fingers,The garlonds frae my hair,The broches fray my bosom braid;Fray me she'll nere get mare.

12'Here it is my weeding-goun,It is a' goude but the hem;Gi it to my sister Allen,For she is left now bird her lane.

13'When you come whare brigs is broken,Ye'l bent your bow and swim;An when ye come whare green grass grows,Ye'l slack your shoon and run.

14'But when you come to yon castle,Bide neither to chap nor ca,But you'l set your bent bow to your breast,And lightly loup the wa,And gin the porter be half-gate,Ye'll be ben throw the ha.'

15O when he came whare brigs was broken,He bent his bow and swam;An when he came where green grass grows,He slackd his shoon an ran.

16And when he came to yon castel,He stayed neither to chap no ca'l,But bent his bow unto his breast,And lightly lap the wa'l;And gin the porter was hafe-gate,He was ben throw the ha'l.

17'O peace be to you, ladys a'l!As ye sit at your dineYe ha little word of Lady Mazerë,For she drees mickel pine.

18'Here is the rings frae her fingers,The garlands frae her hair,The broches frae her bosome brade;Fray her ye'l nere get mare.

19'Here it is her weeding-goun,It is a' goude but the hem;Ye'll ge it to her sister Allen,For she is left bird her lane.'

20She ca'd the table wi her foot,And coped it wi her tae,Till siller cups an siller cansUnto the floor did gae.

21'Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny boy,Ye wash, and come to dine;It does not fit a bonny boyHis errant for to tine.

22'Ge saddle to me the black, the black,Ge saddle to me the brown,Ge saddle to me the swiftest steedThat ever rid frae a town.'

23The first steed they saddled to her,He was the bonny black;He was a good steed, an a very good steed,But he tiyrd eer he wan the slack.

24The next steed they saddled to her,He was the bonny brown;He was a good steed, an a very good steed,But he tiyird ere he wan the town.

25The next steed they saddled to her,He was the bonny white;Fair fa the mair that fo'd the foleThat carried her to Mazeree['s] lear!

26As she gaed in at Leivingston,Thair was na mickel pride;The scobs was in her lovely mouth,And the razer in her side.

27'O them that marrys your daughter, lady,I think them but a foole;A married man at Martimass,An a widdow the next Yule!'

28'O hold your toung now, Livingston,Let all your folly abee;I bear the burden in my breast,Mun suffer them to dee.'

29Out an speaks her Bird Allen,For she spake ay through pride;'That man shall near be born,' she says,'That shall ly down by my side.'

30'O hold your toung now, Bird Allen,Let all your folly abee;For you shall marry a man,' she says,'Tho ye shoud live but rathes three.'

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