E

Motherwell's MS., p. 480, from the recitation of Widow Michael, a very old woman, as learned by her in Banffshire seventy years before. August, 1826.

1Gill Morice stood in stable-door,With red gold shined his weed;A bonnie boy him behind,Dressing a milk-white steed.2'Woe's me for you, maister,Your name it waxes wide;It is not for your rich, rich robes,Nor for your meikle pride,But all is for yon lord's ladie,She lives on Ithan side.'3'Here's to thee, my bonnie wee boy,That I pay meat and fee;You will run on to Ithan sideAn errand unto me.'4'If ye gar me that errand run,Sae sair against my will,I'll make a vow, and keep it true,I'll do your errand ill.'5'I fear nae ill of thee, boy,I fear nae ill of thee;I fearna ill of my bonnie boy,My sister's son are ye.6'Ye'll tak here this green manteel,It's lined with the frieze;Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood,To talk with Gill Morice.7'Ye'll tak here this sark o silk,Her ain hand sewed the sleeve;Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood,And ask not Burnard's leave.'8When he gade to Ithan sideThey were hailing at the ba,And four and twenty gay ladyesThey lookd ower castle wa.9'God mak you safe, you ladies all,God mak you safe and sure;But Burnard's lady amang you all,My errand is to her.10'Ye'll tak here this green manteel,It's a' lined wi the frieze;Ye're bidden come to gude green-woodAnd speak to Gill Morice.11'Ye'll tak here this sark of silk,Your ain hand sewed the sleeve;Ye're bidden come to gude green-wood,And ask not Burnard's leave.'12Up it stood the little nurice,She winked with her ee:'Welcome, welcome, bonnie boy,With luve-tidings to me.13'Ye lie, ye lie, ye false nurice,Sae loud's I hear ye lie;It's to the lady of the house,I'm sure ye are not shee.'14Then out and spoke him bold Burnard,Behind the door stood he:'I'll go unto gude green-wood,And see what he may be.15'Come, bring to me the gowns of silk,Your petticoats so small,And I'll go on to gude green-wood,I'll try with him a fall.'16Gill Morice stood in gude green-wood,He whistled and he sang:'I think I see the woman comeThat I have loved lang.'17'What now, what now, ye Gill Morice,What now, and how do ye?How lang hae ye my lady luved?This day come tell to me.'18'First when I your lady loved,In green-wood amang the thyme,I wot she was my first fair loveOr ever she was thine.19'First when I your lady loved,In green-wood amang the flouirs,I wot she was my first fair loveOr ever she was yours.'20He's taen out a lang, lang brandThat he was used to wear,And he's taen aff Gill Morice head,And put it on a spear:The soberest boy in a' the courtGill Morice head did bear.21He's put it in a braid basin,And brocht it in the ha,And laid it in his lady's lap;Said, Lady, tak a ba!22'Play ye, play ye, my lady,' he said,'Play ye frae ha to bower;Play ye wi Gill Morice head,He was your paramour.'23'He was not my paramour,He was my son indeed;I got him in my mother's bower,And in my maiden-weed.24'I got him in my mother's bower,Wi meikle sin and shame;I brocht him up in good green-wood,Got mony a shower o rain.25'But I will kiss his bluidy head,And I will clap his chin;I'll make a vow, and keep it true,I'll never kiss man again.26'Oftimes I by his cradle sat,And fond to see him sleep;But I may walk about his grave,The saut tears for to weep.'27'Bring cods, bring cods to my ladye,Her heart is full of wae;''None of your cods, Burnet,' she says,'But lay me on the strae.'28'Pox on you, my lady fair,That wudna telled it me;If I had known he was your son,He had not been slain by me;And for ae penny ye wud hae gienI wud hae gien him three.'29'Keep weel your land, Burnet,' she said,'Your land and white monie;There's land eneuch in NorrowayLies heirless I wot the day.'30The one was killed in the mornin air,His mother died at een,And or the mornin bells was rungThe threesome were a' gane.

1Gill Morice stood in stable-door,With red gold shined his weed;A bonnie boy him behind,Dressing a milk-white steed.

2'Woe's me for you, maister,Your name it waxes wide;It is not for your rich, rich robes,Nor for your meikle pride,But all is for yon lord's ladie,She lives on Ithan side.'

3'Here's to thee, my bonnie wee boy,That I pay meat and fee;You will run on to Ithan sideAn errand unto me.'

4'If ye gar me that errand run,Sae sair against my will,I'll make a vow, and keep it true,I'll do your errand ill.'

5'I fear nae ill of thee, boy,I fear nae ill of thee;I fearna ill of my bonnie boy,My sister's son are ye.

6'Ye'll tak here this green manteel,It's lined with the frieze;Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood,To talk with Gill Morice.

7'Ye'll tak here this sark o silk,Her ain hand sewed the sleeve;Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood,And ask not Burnard's leave.'

8When he gade to Ithan sideThey were hailing at the ba,And four and twenty gay ladyesThey lookd ower castle wa.

9'God mak you safe, you ladies all,God mak you safe and sure;But Burnard's lady amang you all,My errand is to her.

10'Ye'll tak here this green manteel,It's a' lined wi the frieze;Ye're bidden come to gude green-woodAnd speak to Gill Morice.

11'Ye'll tak here this sark of silk,Your ain hand sewed the sleeve;Ye're bidden come to gude green-wood,And ask not Burnard's leave.'

12Up it stood the little nurice,She winked with her ee:'Welcome, welcome, bonnie boy,With luve-tidings to me.

13'Ye lie, ye lie, ye false nurice,Sae loud's I hear ye lie;It's to the lady of the house,I'm sure ye are not shee.'

14Then out and spoke him bold Burnard,Behind the door stood he:'I'll go unto gude green-wood,And see what he may be.

15'Come, bring to me the gowns of silk,Your petticoats so small,And I'll go on to gude green-wood,I'll try with him a fall.'

16Gill Morice stood in gude green-wood,He whistled and he sang:'I think I see the woman comeThat I have loved lang.'

17'What now, what now, ye Gill Morice,What now, and how do ye?How lang hae ye my lady luved?This day come tell to me.'

18'First when I your lady loved,In green-wood amang the thyme,I wot she was my first fair loveOr ever she was thine.

19'First when I your lady loved,In green-wood amang the flouirs,I wot she was my first fair loveOr ever she was yours.'

20He's taen out a lang, lang brandThat he was used to wear,And he's taen aff Gill Morice head,And put it on a spear:The soberest boy in a' the courtGill Morice head did bear.

21He's put it in a braid basin,And brocht it in the ha,And laid it in his lady's lap;Said, Lady, tak a ba!

22'Play ye, play ye, my lady,' he said,'Play ye frae ha to bower;Play ye wi Gill Morice head,He was your paramour.'

23'He was not my paramour,He was my son indeed;I got him in my mother's bower,And in my maiden-weed.

24'I got him in my mother's bower,Wi meikle sin and shame;I brocht him up in good green-wood,Got mony a shower o rain.

25'But I will kiss his bluidy head,And I will clap his chin;I'll make a vow, and keep it true,I'll never kiss man again.

26'Oftimes I by his cradle sat,And fond to see him sleep;But I may walk about his grave,The saut tears for to weep.'

27'Bring cods, bring cods to my ladye,Her heart is full of wae;''None of your cods, Burnet,' she says,'But lay me on the strae.'

28'Pox on you, my lady fair,That wudna telled it me;If I had known he was your son,He had not been slain by me;And for ae penny ye wud hae gienI wud hae gien him three.'

29'Keep weel your land, Burnet,' she said,'Your land and white monie;There's land eneuch in NorrowayLies heirless I wot the day.'

30The one was killed in the mornin air,His mother died at een,And or the mornin bells was rungThe threesome were a' gane.

Motherwell's MS., p. 165; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 269. From the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, seventy years of age, as learned from her mother at the Water of Leven, Dumbarton, when she was ten years old. March, 1825.

1Chield Morrice was an earl's son,His name it waxed wide;It was nae for his parentage,Nor yet his meikle pride,But it was for a lady gay,That lived on Carron side.2'O Willie, my man, my errand gang,And you maun rin wi speed;When other boys run on their feet,On horseback ye shall ride.3'O master dear, I love you weel,And I love you as my life,But I will not go to Lord Barnard's ha,For to tryst forth his wife.4'For the baron he's a man of might,He neer could bide a taunt,And ye shall see or it be lateHow meikle ye'll hae to vaunt.'5'O you must rin my errand, Willie,And you must rin wi speed,And if you don't obey my high commandI'll gar your body bleed.6'And here it is a gay manteel,It's a' gowd but the hem;Bid her come speak to Chield Morice,Bring naebody but her lane.7'And here it is a holland smock,Her own hand sewed the sleeve;Bid her come speak to Chield Morice,Ask not the baron's leave.'8'Since I must run this errand for you,So sore against my will,I've made a vow, and I'll keep it true,It shall be done for ill.'9For he did not ask the porter's leave,Tho he stood at the gate,But straight he ran to the big hall,Where great folk sat at meat.10'Good hallow, gentle sir and dame,My errand canna wait;Dame, ye must go speak to Chield Morice,Before it be too late.11'And here it is a gay manteel,It's a' goud but the hem;Ye must come speak to Child Morice,Bring nae body but your lane.12'And here it is a holland smock,Your ain hand sewed the sleeve;You must come speak to Chield Morice,Ask not the baron's leave.'13O aye she stamped wi her foot,And winked wi her ee,But a' that she could say or do,Forbidden he wad na be.14'It's surely to my bouir-woman,It canna be to me:''I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady,And I trow that thou art she.'15Out then spak the wylie nurse,Wi the bairn just on her knee:'If this be come fra Chield Morice,It's dear welcome to me.'16'Thou lies, thou lies, thou wylie nurse,Sae loud's I hear thee lie;I brought it to Lord Barnard's lady,And I trow thou binna she.'17Then up and rose him the bold baron,And an angry man was he;He took the table wi his foot,And keppd it wi his knee,Till silver cup and ezar dishIn flinders they did flee.18'Go bring me one of thy cleeding,That hings upon the pin,And I'll awa to the good green-wood,And crack wi your leman.'19'I would have you stay at home, Lord Barnard,I would have you stay at home;Never wyte a man for violence douceThat never thought you wrong.'20And when he to the green-wood went,No body saw he thereBut Chield Morice, on a milk-white steed,Combing down his yellow hair.21Chield Morice sat in the gay green-wood,He whistled and he sang:'O what means a' thir folks coming?My mother tarries lang.'22'No wonder, no wonder, Chield Morice,' he said,'My lady loved thee weel;For the whitest bit of my bodyIs blacker than thy heel.23'But nevertheless now, Chield Morice,For a' thy gay beautie,O nevertheless, Chield Morice,Thy head shall go with me.'24He had a rapier by his side,Hung low down by his knee;He struck Chield Morrice on the neck,Till aff his head did flee.25Then he's taen up that bloody head,And stuck it on a spear,And the meanest man in a' his trainGat Chield Morice head to bear.26The lady looked owre the castle-wa,Wi meikle dool and down,And there she saw Chield Morice head,Coming trailing to the town.27But he's taen up this bluidy head,And dashed it gainst the wa:'Come down, come down, you ladies fair,And play at this foot-ba.'28Then she's taen up this bluidy head,And she kissed it both cheek and chin:'I would rather hae a kiss o that bluidy headThan a' thy earldom.29'I got him in my father's bouir,Wi meikle sin and shame,And I brought him up in gay green-wood,Beneath the heavy rain.30'Many a day have I rockd thy cradle,And fondly seen thee sleep,But now I'll go about thy grave,And sore, sore will I weep.'31'O woe be to thee, thou wild woman,And an ill deid may thou die!For if ye had tauld me he was your son,He should hae ridden and gane wi me.'32'O hold your tongue, you bold baron,And an ill death may ye die!He had lands and rents enew of his ain,He needed nane fra thee.'33'Then I'll curse the hand that did the deed,The heart that thought him ill,The feet that carried me speedilieThis comely youth to kill.'34This lady she died gin ten o'clock,Lord Barnard died gin twall,And bonnie boy now, Sweet Willie,What's come o him I canna tell.

1Chield Morrice was an earl's son,His name it waxed wide;It was nae for his parentage,Nor yet his meikle pride,But it was for a lady gay,That lived on Carron side.

2'O Willie, my man, my errand gang,And you maun rin wi speed;When other boys run on their feet,On horseback ye shall ride.

3'O master dear, I love you weel,And I love you as my life,But I will not go to Lord Barnard's ha,For to tryst forth his wife.

4'For the baron he's a man of might,He neer could bide a taunt,And ye shall see or it be lateHow meikle ye'll hae to vaunt.'

5'O you must rin my errand, Willie,And you must rin wi speed,And if you don't obey my high commandI'll gar your body bleed.

6'And here it is a gay manteel,It's a' gowd but the hem;Bid her come speak to Chield Morice,Bring naebody but her lane.

7'And here it is a holland smock,Her own hand sewed the sleeve;Bid her come speak to Chield Morice,Ask not the baron's leave.'

8'Since I must run this errand for you,So sore against my will,I've made a vow, and I'll keep it true,It shall be done for ill.'

9For he did not ask the porter's leave,Tho he stood at the gate,But straight he ran to the big hall,Where great folk sat at meat.

10'Good hallow, gentle sir and dame,My errand canna wait;Dame, ye must go speak to Chield Morice,Before it be too late.

11'And here it is a gay manteel,It's a' goud but the hem;Ye must come speak to Child Morice,Bring nae body but your lane.

12'And here it is a holland smock,Your ain hand sewed the sleeve;You must come speak to Chield Morice,Ask not the baron's leave.'

13O aye she stamped wi her foot,And winked wi her ee,But a' that she could say or do,Forbidden he wad na be.

14'It's surely to my bouir-woman,It canna be to me:''I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady,And I trow that thou art she.'

15Out then spak the wylie nurse,Wi the bairn just on her knee:'If this be come fra Chield Morice,It's dear welcome to me.'

16'Thou lies, thou lies, thou wylie nurse,Sae loud's I hear thee lie;I brought it to Lord Barnard's lady,And I trow thou binna she.'

17Then up and rose him the bold baron,And an angry man was he;He took the table wi his foot,And keppd it wi his knee,Till silver cup and ezar dishIn flinders they did flee.

18'Go bring me one of thy cleeding,That hings upon the pin,And I'll awa to the good green-wood,And crack wi your leman.'

19'I would have you stay at home, Lord Barnard,I would have you stay at home;Never wyte a man for violence douceThat never thought you wrong.'

20And when he to the green-wood went,No body saw he thereBut Chield Morice, on a milk-white steed,Combing down his yellow hair.

21Chield Morice sat in the gay green-wood,He whistled and he sang:'O what means a' thir folks coming?My mother tarries lang.'

22'No wonder, no wonder, Chield Morice,' he said,'My lady loved thee weel;For the whitest bit of my bodyIs blacker than thy heel.

23'But nevertheless now, Chield Morice,For a' thy gay beautie,O nevertheless, Chield Morice,Thy head shall go with me.'

24He had a rapier by his side,Hung low down by his knee;He struck Chield Morrice on the neck,Till aff his head did flee.

25Then he's taen up that bloody head,And stuck it on a spear,And the meanest man in a' his trainGat Chield Morice head to bear.

26The lady looked owre the castle-wa,Wi meikle dool and down,And there she saw Chield Morice head,Coming trailing to the town.

27But he's taen up this bluidy head,And dashed it gainst the wa:'Come down, come down, you ladies fair,And play at this foot-ba.'

28Then she's taen up this bluidy head,And she kissed it both cheek and chin:'I would rather hae a kiss o that bluidy headThan a' thy earldom.

29'I got him in my father's bouir,Wi meikle sin and shame,And I brought him up in gay green-wood,Beneath the heavy rain.

30'Many a day have I rockd thy cradle,And fondly seen thee sleep,But now I'll go about thy grave,And sore, sore will I weep.'

31'O woe be to thee, thou wild woman,And an ill deid may thou die!For if ye had tauld me he was your son,He should hae ridden and gane wi me.'

32'O hold your tongue, you bold baron,And an ill death may ye die!He had lands and rents enew of his ain,He needed nane fra thee.'

33'Then I'll curse the hand that did the deed,The heart that thought him ill,The feet that carried me speedilieThis comely youth to kill.'

34This lady she died gin ten o'clock,Lord Barnard died gin twall,And bonnie boy now, Sweet Willie,What's come o him I canna tell.

a.Percy's Reliques, III, 93, 1765.b.Letter of T. Gray to Mason, June, 1757 (?): Gray's Works, ed. Gosse, II, 316.

1Gil Morrice was an erles son,His name it waxed wide;It was nae for his great riches,Nor yet his mickle pride,Bot it was for a lady gay,That livd on Carron side.2'Whair sall I get a bonny boy,That will win hose and shoen,That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha,And bid his lady cum?3'And ye maun rin errand, Willie,And ye may rin wi pride;When other boys gae on their foot,On horseback ye sall ride.'4'O no! Oh no! my master dear,I dare nae for my life;I'll no gae to the bauld baron's,For to triest furth his wife.'5'My bird Willie, my boy Willie,My dear Willie,' he sayd,'How can ye strive against the stream?For I sall be obeyd.'6'Bot, O my master dear,' he cry'd,'In grene-wod ye're your lain;Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede,For fear ye should be tain.'7'Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha,Bid hir cum here wi speid;If ye refuse my heigh command,I'll gar your body bleid.8'Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,'Tis a' gowd but the hem;Bid hir cum to the gude grene-wode,And bring nane bot hir lain.9'And there it is, a silken sarke,Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,Speir nae bauld baron's leave.'10'Yes, I will gae your black errand,Though it be to your cost;Sen ye by me will nae be warnd,In it ye sall find frost.11'The baron he's a man of might,He neir could bide to taunt;As ye will see, before it's nicht,How sma ye hae to vaunt.12'And sen I maun your errand rin,Sae sair against my will,I'se mak a vow, and keip it trow,It sall be done for ill.'13And when he came to broken brigue,He bent his bow and swam;And when [he] came to grass growing,Set down his feet and ran.14And when he came to Barnard's ha,Would neither chap nor ca,Bot set his bent bow to his breist,And lichtly lap the wa.15He wauld nae tell the man his errand,Though he stude at the gait;Bot straiht into the ha he cam,Whair they were set at meit.16'Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame,My message winna waite;Dame, ye maun to the gude grene-wod,Before that it be late.17'Ye're bidden tak this gay mantel,'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;You maun gae to the gude grene-wode,Evn by your sel alane.18'And there it is, a silken sarke,Your ain hand sewd the sleive;Ye maun gae speik to Gill Morice,Speir nae bauld baron's leave.'19The lady stamped wi hir foot,And winked wi hir ee;But a' that she coud say or do,Forbidden he wad nae bee.20'It's surely to my bowr-woman;It neir could be to me:''I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;I trow that ye be she.'21Then up and spack the wylie nurse,The bairn upon hir knee:'If it be cum frae Gill Morice,It's deir welcum to mee.'22'Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse,Sae loud's I heire ye lee;I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;I trow ye be nae shee.'23Then up and spack the bauld baron,An angry man was hee;He's tain the table wi his foot,Sae has he wi his knee,Till siller cup and ezar dishIn flinders he gard flee.24'Gae bring a robe of your cliding,That hings upon the pin,And I'll gae to the gude grene-wode,And speik wi your lemman.'25'O bide at hame, now, Lord Barnard,I warde ye bide at hame;Neir wyte a man for violenceThat neir wate ye wi nane.'26Gil Morice sate in gude grene-wode,He whistled and he sang:'O what mean a' the folk coming?My mother tarries lang.'27The baron came to the grene-wode,Wi mickle dule and care,And there he first spied Gill Morice,Kameing his yellow hair.28'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,My lady loed thee weel;The fairest part of my bodyIs blacker than thy heel.29'Yet neir the less now, Gill Morice,For a' thy great bewty,Ye's rew the day ye eir was born;That head sall gae wi me.'30Now he has drawn his trusty brand,And slaited on the strae,And thro Gill Morice fair bodyHe's gard cauld iron gae.31And he has tain Gill Morice head,And set it on a speir;The meanest man in a' his trainHas gotten that head to bear.32And he has tain Gill Morice up,Laid him across his steid,And brocht him to his painted bowr,And laid him on a bed.33The lady sat on castil-wa,Beheld baith dale and doun,And there she saw Gill Morice headCum trailing to the toun.34'Far better I loe that bluidy head,Bot and that yellow hair,Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands,As they lig here and thair.'35And she has tain hir Gill Morice,And kissd baith mouth and chin:'I was once as fow of Gill MoriceAs the hip is o the stean.36'I got ye in my father's house,Wi mickle sin and shame;I brocht thee up in gude green-wode,Under the heavy rain.37'Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,And fondly seen thee sleip;Bot now I gae about thy grave,The saut tears for to weip.'38And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,And syne his bluidy chin:'O better I loe my Gill MoriceThan a' my kith and kin!'39'Away, away, ye ill woman,And an il deith mait ye dee!Gin I had kend he'd bin your son,He'd neir bin slain for mee.'

1Gil Morrice was an erles son,His name it waxed wide;It was nae for his great riches,Nor yet his mickle pride,Bot it was for a lady gay,That livd on Carron side.

2'Whair sall I get a bonny boy,That will win hose and shoen,That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha,And bid his lady cum?

3'And ye maun rin errand, Willie,And ye may rin wi pride;When other boys gae on their foot,On horseback ye sall ride.'

4'O no! Oh no! my master dear,I dare nae for my life;I'll no gae to the bauld baron's,For to triest furth his wife.'

5'My bird Willie, my boy Willie,My dear Willie,' he sayd,'How can ye strive against the stream?For I sall be obeyd.'

6'Bot, O my master dear,' he cry'd,'In grene-wod ye're your lain;Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede,For fear ye should be tain.'

7'Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha,Bid hir cum here wi speid;If ye refuse my heigh command,I'll gar your body bleid.

8'Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,'Tis a' gowd but the hem;Bid hir cum to the gude grene-wode,And bring nane bot hir lain.

9'And there it is, a silken sarke,Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,Speir nae bauld baron's leave.'

10'Yes, I will gae your black errand,Though it be to your cost;Sen ye by me will nae be warnd,In it ye sall find frost.

11'The baron he's a man of might,He neir could bide to taunt;As ye will see, before it's nicht,How sma ye hae to vaunt.

12'And sen I maun your errand rin,Sae sair against my will,I'se mak a vow, and keip it trow,It sall be done for ill.'

13And when he came to broken brigue,He bent his bow and swam;And when [he] came to grass growing,Set down his feet and ran.

14And when he came to Barnard's ha,Would neither chap nor ca,Bot set his bent bow to his breist,And lichtly lap the wa.

15He wauld nae tell the man his errand,Though he stude at the gait;Bot straiht into the ha he cam,Whair they were set at meit.

16'Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame,My message winna waite;Dame, ye maun to the gude grene-wod,Before that it be late.

17'Ye're bidden tak this gay mantel,'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;You maun gae to the gude grene-wode,Evn by your sel alane.

18'And there it is, a silken sarke,Your ain hand sewd the sleive;Ye maun gae speik to Gill Morice,Speir nae bauld baron's leave.'

19The lady stamped wi hir foot,And winked wi hir ee;But a' that she coud say or do,Forbidden he wad nae bee.

20'It's surely to my bowr-woman;It neir could be to me:''I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;I trow that ye be she.'

21Then up and spack the wylie nurse,The bairn upon hir knee:'If it be cum frae Gill Morice,It's deir welcum to mee.'

22'Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse,Sae loud's I heire ye lee;I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;I trow ye be nae shee.'

23Then up and spack the bauld baron,An angry man was hee;He's tain the table wi his foot,Sae has he wi his knee,Till siller cup and ezar dishIn flinders he gard flee.

24'Gae bring a robe of your cliding,That hings upon the pin,And I'll gae to the gude grene-wode,And speik wi your lemman.'

25'O bide at hame, now, Lord Barnard,I warde ye bide at hame;Neir wyte a man for violenceThat neir wate ye wi nane.'

26Gil Morice sate in gude grene-wode,He whistled and he sang:'O what mean a' the folk coming?My mother tarries lang.'

27The baron came to the grene-wode,Wi mickle dule and care,And there he first spied Gill Morice,Kameing his yellow hair.

28'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,My lady loed thee weel;The fairest part of my bodyIs blacker than thy heel.

29'Yet neir the less now, Gill Morice,For a' thy great bewty,Ye's rew the day ye eir was born;That head sall gae wi me.'

30Now he has drawn his trusty brand,And slaited on the strae,And thro Gill Morice fair bodyHe's gard cauld iron gae.

31And he has tain Gill Morice head,And set it on a speir;The meanest man in a' his trainHas gotten that head to bear.

32And he has tain Gill Morice up,Laid him across his steid,And brocht him to his painted bowr,And laid him on a bed.

33The lady sat on castil-wa,Beheld baith dale and doun,And there she saw Gill Morice headCum trailing to the toun.

34'Far better I loe that bluidy head,Bot and that yellow hair,Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands,As they lig here and thair.'

35And she has tain hir Gill Morice,And kissd baith mouth and chin:'I was once as fow of Gill MoriceAs the hip is o the stean.

36'I got ye in my father's house,Wi mickle sin and shame;I brocht thee up in gude green-wode,Under the heavy rain.

37'Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,And fondly seen thee sleip;Bot now I gae about thy grave,The saut tears for to weip.'

38And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,And syne his bluidy chin:'O better I loe my Gill MoriceThan a' my kith and kin!'

39'Away, away, ye ill woman,And an il deith mait ye dee!Gin I had kend he'd bin your son,He'd neir bin slain for mee.'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 18; Jamieson, in The Scots Magazine, 1803, LXV, 698, stanzas 1, 3.

1Gil Morrice sat in silver wood,He whistled and he sang:'Whar sall I get a bonny boyMy errand for to gang?'2He ca'd his foster-brither Willie:'Come, win ye hose and shoon,And gae unto Lord Barnard's ha,And bid his lady come.'* * * * *3And she has taen the bloody head,And cast it i the brim,Syne gathered up her robes o green,And fast she followed him.

1Gil Morrice sat in silver wood,He whistled and he sang:'Whar sall I get a bonny boyMy errand for to gang?'

2He ca'd his foster-brither Willie:'Come, win ye hose and shoon,And gae unto Lord Barnard's ha,And bid his lady come.'

* * * * *

3And she has taen the bloody head,And cast it i the brim,Syne gathered up her robes o green,And fast she followed him.

11. siluen:compare 73, 83, 143, 153, etc.23, 4.In the MS., these go with 3: compare 20.32. rumeth.43, 4.These precede what is printed as 6.51, 61, 121. out many.63. as schoole masters:compare 133.65, 6.These lines may be the last half of a stanza. There is nothing corresponding in the page's repetition of his master's message.171, 2.Joined in the MS. with 18.184. then my.21.At least one stanza must be lost after 20.221, 2precede 21, and 223, 4make a stanza with 213, 4: the order being 221, 2, 21, 223, 4.224. 2 or 3.261.Only half thenin the MS. Furnivall.302. but 3.321. curteouset.Andfor&throughout.

11. siluen:compare 73, 83, 143, 153, etc.

23, 4.In the MS., these go with 3: compare 20.

32. rumeth.

43, 4.These precede what is printed as 6.

51, 61, 121. out many.

63. as schoole masters:compare 133.

65, 6.These lines may be the last half of a stanza. There is nothing corresponding in the page's repetition of his master's message.

171, 2.Joined in the MS. with 18.

184. then my.

21.At least one stanza must be lost after 20.

221, 2precede 21, and 223, 4make a stanza with 213, 4: the order being 221, 2, 21, 223, 4.

224. 2 or 3.

261.Only half thenin the MS. Furnivall.

302. but 3.

321. curteouset.

Andfor&throughout.

23. Foris a later insertion.23, 61. Oh.61, 2.Originally, O do I not, And do I not.93. to go to: comewritten overgo.132, 143. of.142. Thatis a later insertion.182. Andis a later insertion.184.Originally, He should neer have been.

23. Foris a later insertion.

23, 61. Oh.

61, 2.Originally, O do I not, And do I not.

93. to go to: comewritten overgo.

132, 143. of.

142. Thatis a later insertion.

182. Andis a later insertion.

184.Originally, He should neer have been.

"This ballad was forwarded to me by my good friend Andrew Crawfurd, of John's Hill, Lochwinnoch. He wrote it from the recitation of Mrs Storie, wife of William Storie, laborer, in Lochwinnoch. It was a song of Mrs Storie's grandmother. It is queried if this should not be Babe Norice.... The interlineary corrections were made in consequence of Mrs Storie singing the ballad over to myself."Motherwell. The interlineary corrections have been adopted. The earlier readings follow.BarnardforBarnet.54. speir nae bauld baron's.61. Barnard's ha.83. and I doubly vow.101. wee lad.121. gaywanting.131. braw manteil.134. nae bauld baron's.161. to a busking gane.162. drest him.191. Barnard liftit his.193. has sneddit.194. And aff frae his bodie.204. ladywanting.The affected spelling I suppose to be Crawfurd's.74, 91. quhan.In the Appendix to his Minstrelsy, p. xvii, Motherwell adopts the readingBabe Noricein 11, and printsburning gowdin 14.

BarnardforBarnet.

54. speir nae bauld baron's.

61. Barnard's ha.

83. and I doubly vow.

101. wee lad.

121. gaywanting.

131. braw manteil.

134. nae bauld baron's.

161. to a busking gane.

162. drest him.

191. Barnard liftit his.

193. has sneddit.

194. And aff frae his bodie.

204. ladywanting.

The affected spelling I suppose to be Crawfurd's.

74, 91. quhan.

In the Appendix to his Minstrelsy, p. xvii, Motherwell adopts the readingBabe Noricein 11, and printsburning gowdin 14.

"This copy is from the recitation of Margaret Paterson,aliaswidow Michael, a very old woman residing at Dovecote Ha, Barhead. She is a native of Banffshire, and learned the ballad there in her infancy. She mentions that she has heard it sung with many variations, but this copy was considered to be the right way. It is seventy years since she committed it to her memory. 4th August, 1826."Motherwell.

In his Minstrelsy, p. 269, Motherwell says that the reciter learned the ballad from her grandmother. He goes on to say:She mentions that at a later period of her life she also committed to memory 'Gill Morice,' which began with young lasses like her to be a greater favorite and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and other old folks used to sing, under the title of 'Chield Morice.'175.Writtenand dezar dish, thedofandbeing carried on to the word following.193. doucemakes no apparent sense. Motherwell prints done.201.Stood originallyAnd when he came to the green wood.262.No doubt a corruption of the familiarBeheld baith dale and down.294. heaviy,perhaps representing the actual sound. Motherwell printsheavy.

175.Writtenand dezar dish, thedofandbeing carried on to the word following.

193. doucemakes no apparent sense. Motherwell prints done.

201.Stood originallyAnd when he came to the green wood.

262.No doubt a corruption of the familiarBeheld baith dale and down.

294. heaviy,perhaps representing the actual sound. Motherwell printsheavy.

F. a.

In eight-line stanzas.Whandyare substituted for the initialquhandzcherished by ballad imitators.54. shall.304. He's gar.

In eight-line stanzas.Whandyare substituted for the initialquhandzcherished by ballad imitators.

54. shall.

304. He's gar.

12. fame it wexed.14. Nae for.16. Carron's.31. Ye maun rin this.32. maun rin.33. feet.41. Ah na, ah na.The four stanzas which follow, "produced and handed about in manuscript," in consequence of an advertisement, were introduced into his copy by Percy.After 26:

12. fame it wexed.

14. Nae for.

16. Carron's.

31. Ye maun rin this.

32. maun rin.

33. feet.

41. Ah na, ah na.

The four stanzas which follow, "produced and handed about in manuscript," in consequence of an advertisement, were introduced into his copy by Percy.

After 26:

His hair was like the threeds of gold,Drawne frae Minerva's loome;His lipps like roses drapping dew,His breath was a' perfume.His brow was like the mountain snae,Gilt by the morning beam;His cheeks like living roses glow,His een like azure stream.The boy was clad in robes of grene,Sweete as the infant spring,And like the mavis on the bushHe gart the vallies ring.

His hair was like the threeds of gold,Drawne frae Minerva's loome;His lipps like roses drapping dew,His breath was a' perfume.

His brow was like the mountain snae,Gilt by the morning beam;His cheeks like living roses glow,His een like azure stream.

The boy was clad in robes of grene,Sweete as the infant spring,And like the mavis on the bushHe gart the vallies ring.

After 27:

That sweetly wavd around his face,That face beyond compare;He sang sae sweet, it might dispelA' rage but fell dispair.

The following stanzas were appended to the ballad in the edition reprinted by Percy:

'Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard,Obraid me not for shame!With that saim speir O pierce my heart,And put me out o pain.'Since nothing bot Gill Morice headThy jelous rage could quell,Let that saim hand now tak hir lifeThat neir to thee did ill.'To me nae after days nor nichtsWill 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;I 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 mineHad gard his body bleid.'Dry up your tears, my winsom dame,Ye neir can heal the wound;Ye see his head upon the speir,His heart's blude on the ground.'I curse the hand that did the deid,The heart that thocht the ill,The feet that bore me wi sik speidThe comely youth to kill.'I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,As gin he were my ain;I'll neir forget the dreiry dayOn which the youth was slain.'

'Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard,Obraid me not for shame!With that saim speir O pierce my heart,And put me out o pain.

'Since nothing bot Gill Morice headThy jelous rage could quell,Let that saim hand now tak hir lifeThat neir to thee did ill.

'To me nae after days nor nichtsWill 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;I 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 mineHad gard his body bleid.

'Dry up your tears, my winsom dame,Ye neir can heal the wound;Ye see his head upon the speir,His heart's blude on the ground.

'I curse the hand that did the deid,The heart that thocht the ill,The feet that bore me wi sik speidThe comely youth to kill.

'I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,As gin he were my ain;I'll neir forget the dreiry dayOn which the youth was slain.'

The copy lent me by Mr Macmath lacks the four stanzas inserted by Percy, but has the eight given immediately above. The following are the variations fromF.21. will I.74. thy body.102. thy cost.183. maun cum.261. sits.263. means a' these folks.264. she tarrys.271. And whan he cam to guid.273. first saw.274. Kemeing down.282. Than my,misprint.304. gard.344. they lay.354. hip was.The eight stanzas follow which are printed immediately above.

The copy lent me by Mr Macmath lacks the four stanzas inserted by Percy, but has the eight given immediately above. The following are the variations fromF.

21. will I.

74. thy body.

102. thy cost.

183. maun cum.

261. sits.

263. means a' these folks.

264. she tarrys.

271. And whan he cam to guid.

273. first saw.

274. Kemeing down.

282. Than my,misprint.

304. gard.

344. they lay.

354. hip was.

The eight stanzas follow which are printed immediately above.

FOOTNOTES:[139]The edition of 1755 is not known now to exist. Mr David Laing showed Motherwell a copy, without place or date, with the title: Gill Morice, An Ancient Scots Poem. The foundation of the tragedy called Douglas, as it is now acted in the Concert-Hall, Canongate. There was no material difference between this edition and that which was reprinted in the Reliques, except that it lacked the four stanzas which Percy introduced. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 259, note.In Herd's MSS, I, 7, II, 70, there are half a dozen more stanzas, from The Weekly Magazine, August 13, 1772, which continue the story still further. My lady flings herself over a craig, my lord seeks death in battle. But, as Sir Walter Scott notes in the margin, these verses are "formed on the conclusion of Douglas, which tragedy is founded on the original ballad." These stanzas are printed by Jamieson, I, 21.Mr Macmath has communicated to me an early copy of 'Gil Morice,' without place or date, in conjunction with a parody, entitled The Seven Champions of the Stage, printed in 1757, which satirizes Parson Home's efforts to get his Agis and his Douglas acted by Garrick. This copy of 'Gil Morice' might be another edition of that which Mr Laing possessed. Its variations, which are of slight consequence, will be given in the notes toF.[140]The name of the heroine in the tragedy of Douglas was originally Lady Barnard, as in the ballad; it was altered to Lady Randolph when the play was produced in London. Motherwell, p. 257, note.[141]Minstrelsy, p. 269, note. Mr Aytoun considers thatEis only the copy printed in the middle of the last century purged, in the process of oral transmission, of what was not to the popular taste, "and altered more." There is no doubt that a copy learned from print may be transformed in this way, but it is certain that old tradition does not come to a stop when a ballad gets into print. Mrs Thomson's account of the matter Aytoun does not heed. It is difficult to understand why Aytoun printed the stanzas from Percy's Reliques, at I, 149 f, 2d ed., except as a simple courtesy to his correspondent.[142]Already cited in The Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, p. 316.

[139]The edition of 1755 is not known now to exist. Mr David Laing showed Motherwell a copy, without place or date, with the title: Gill Morice, An Ancient Scots Poem. The foundation of the tragedy called Douglas, as it is now acted in the Concert-Hall, Canongate. There was no material difference between this edition and that which was reprinted in the Reliques, except that it lacked the four stanzas which Percy introduced. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 259, note.In Herd's MSS, I, 7, II, 70, there are half a dozen more stanzas, from The Weekly Magazine, August 13, 1772, which continue the story still further. My lady flings herself over a craig, my lord seeks death in battle. But, as Sir Walter Scott notes in the margin, these verses are "formed on the conclusion of Douglas, which tragedy is founded on the original ballad." These stanzas are printed by Jamieson, I, 21.Mr Macmath has communicated to me an early copy of 'Gil Morice,' without place or date, in conjunction with a parody, entitled The Seven Champions of the Stage, printed in 1757, which satirizes Parson Home's efforts to get his Agis and his Douglas acted by Garrick. This copy of 'Gil Morice' might be another edition of that which Mr Laing possessed. Its variations, which are of slight consequence, will be given in the notes toF.

In Herd's MSS, I, 7, II, 70, there are half a dozen more stanzas, from The Weekly Magazine, August 13, 1772, which continue the story still further. My lady flings herself over a craig, my lord seeks death in battle. But, as Sir Walter Scott notes in the margin, these verses are "formed on the conclusion of Douglas, which tragedy is founded on the original ballad." These stanzas are printed by Jamieson, I, 21.

Mr Macmath has communicated to me an early copy of 'Gil Morice,' without place or date, in conjunction with a parody, entitled The Seven Champions of the Stage, printed in 1757, which satirizes Parson Home's efforts to get his Agis and his Douglas acted by Garrick. This copy of 'Gil Morice' might be another edition of that which Mr Laing possessed. Its variations, which are of slight consequence, will be given in the notes toF.

[140]The name of the heroine in the tragedy of Douglas was originally Lady Barnard, as in the ballad; it was altered to Lady Randolph when the play was produced in London. Motherwell, p. 257, note.

[141]Minstrelsy, p. 269, note. Mr Aytoun considers thatEis only the copy printed in the middle of the last century purged, in the process of oral transmission, of what was not to the popular taste, "and altered more." There is no doubt that a copy learned from print may be transformed in this way, but it is certain that old tradition does not come to a stop when a ballad gets into print. Mrs Thomson's account of the matter Aytoun does not heed. It is difficult to understand why Aytoun printed the stanzas from Percy's Reliques, at I, 149 f, 2d ed., except as a simple courtesy to his correspondent.

[142]Already cited in The Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, p. 316.

A. a.'Bonny Barbara Allan,' Tea-Table Miscellany, IV, 46, ed. 1740; here from the edition of London, 1763, p. 343.b.'Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 131.B. a.'Barbara Allen's Cruelty,' etc., Roxburghe Ballads, II, 25; reprint of the Ballad Society, III, 433.b.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 522.c.Broadside formerly belonging to Percy.d.Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 125.C.'Barbara Allan,' Motherwell's MS., p. 288, from recitation.

A. a.'Bonny Barbara Allan,' Tea-Table Miscellany, IV, 46, ed. 1740; here from the edition of London, 1763, p. 343.b.'Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 131.

B. a.'Barbara Allen's Cruelty,' etc., Roxburghe Ballads, II, 25; reprint of the Ballad Society, III, 433.b.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 522.c.Broadside formerly belonging to Percy.d.Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 125.

C.'Barbara Allan,' Motherwell's MS., p. 288, from recitation.

A ais wrongly said by Stenhouse, The Scots Musical Museum, IV, 213, to have appeared in Ramsay's Miscellany in 1724. It is not even in the edition of 1733, but, according to Mr Chappell, was first inserted in that of 1740. Ramsay's copy is repeated in Herd, 1769, p. 29, 1776, I, 19, Johnson's Museum, p. 230, No 221, and Ritson's Scotish Song, II, 196.Cwas perhaps derived from Ramsay, but possibly may have come down by purely oral tradition. Some later copies ofBhave Reading Town for Scarlet Town (Chappell).

The Scottish ballad is extended in Buchan's MSS, I, 90, Motherwell's MS., p. 671, to forty-one stanzas. In this amplified copy, which has no claim to be admitted here, the dying lover leaves his watch and gold ring, his Bible and penknife, a mill and thirty ploughs, nine meal-mills and the freights of nine ships, all to tocher Barbara Allan. This is the ballad referred to by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe in Stenhouse's edition of the Museum, IV, 300*, as sung by the peasantry of Allandale. Doubtless it was learned by them from some stall-print.

Pepys makes this entry in his Diary, January 2, 1666: "In perfect pleasure I was to hear her [Mrs Knipp, an actress] sing, and especially her little Scotch song of Barbary Allen." Goldsmith, in his third essay, 1765, p. 14, writes: The music of the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when an old dairy-maid sung me into tears with 'Johnny Armstrong's Last Good-night,' or 'The Cruelty of Barbara Allen.'[143]

A bis translated by Loève-Veimars, p. 379, von Marées, p. 34;B dby Bodmer, I, 85.

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