I

Communicated by Mr G. C. Mahon, of Ann Arbor, Michigan, as sung by a laborer, at Tyrrelspass, West Meath, Ireland, about 1830.

1'Oh who'll comb my yellow locks,With the brown berry comb?And who'll be the child's father,Until Gregory comes home?'2'Oh .... . . . . . .And God will be the child's father,Until Gregory comes home.'* * * * *3'The dew wets my yellow locks,The rain wets my skin,The babe's cold in my arms,Oh Gregory, let me in!'4'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,As I suppose you not to be,Come tell me the last tokenBetween you and me.'The dew wets, etc.5'Oh Gregory, don't you rememberOne night on the hill,When we swapped rings off each other's hands,Sorely against my will?'Mine was of the beaten gold,Yours was but black tin.'The dew wets, etc.6'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,As I suppose you not to be,Come tell me the last tokenBetween you and me.'The dew wets, etc.7'Oh Gregory don't you rememberOne night on the hill,When we swapped smocks off each other's backs,Sorely against my will?Mine was of the holland fine,Yours was but Scotch cloth.'The dew wets, etc.8'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,As I suppose you not to be,Come tell me the last tokenBetween you and me.'The dew wets, etc.9'Oh Gregory, don't you remember,In my father's hall,When you had your will of me?And that was worse than all.'. . . . . . .. . . . . . .The dew wets, etc.

1'Oh who'll comb my yellow locks,With the brown berry comb?And who'll be the child's father,Until Gregory comes home?'

2'Oh .... . . . . . .And God will be the child's father,Until Gregory comes home.'

* * * * *

3'The dew wets my yellow locks,The rain wets my skin,The babe's cold in my arms,Oh Gregory, let me in!'

4'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,As I suppose you not to be,Come tell me the last tokenBetween you and me.'The dew wets, etc.

5'Oh Gregory, don't you rememberOne night on the hill,When we swapped rings off each other's hands,Sorely against my will?'Mine was of the beaten gold,Yours was but black tin.'The dew wets, etc.

6'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,As I suppose you not to be,Come tell me the last tokenBetween you and me.'The dew wets, etc.

7'Oh Gregory don't you rememberOne night on the hill,When we swapped smocks off each other's backs,Sorely against my will?Mine was of the holland fine,Yours was but Scotch cloth.'The dew wets, etc.

8'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,As I suppose you not to be,Come tell me the last tokenBetween you and me.'The dew wets, etc.

9'Oh Gregory, don't you remember,In my father's hall,When you had your will of me?And that was worse than all.'. . . . . . .. . . . . . .The dew wets, etc.

Johnson's Museum, I, 5, No 5, 1787.

1'Oh open the door, Lord Gregory,Oh open, and let me in;The rain rains on my scarlet robes,The dew drops oer my chin.'2'If you are the lass that I lovd once,As I true you are not she,Come give me some of the tokensThat past between you and me.'3'Ah wae be to you, Gregory,An ill death may you die!You will not be the death of one,But you'll be the death of three.4'Oh don't you mind, Lord Gregory,'Twas down at yon burn-sideWe changd the ring of our fingers,And I put mine on thine?'

1'Oh open the door, Lord Gregory,Oh open, and let me in;The rain rains on my scarlet robes,The dew drops oer my chin.'

2'If you are the lass that I lovd once,As I true you are not she,Come give me some of the tokensThat past between you and me.'

3'Ah wae be to you, Gregory,An ill death may you die!You will not be the death of one,But you'll be the death of three.

4'Oh don't you mind, Lord Gregory,'Twas down at yon burn-sideWe changd the ring of our fingers,And I put mine on thine?'

Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 12.

1'O wha will shoe my pretty little foot?And wha will glove my hand?And who will lace my middle jimpWi this lang London whang?2'And wha will comb my yellow, yellow hair,Wi this fine rispen kame?And wha will be my bairn's father,Till Lord Gregory come hame?'

1'O wha will shoe my pretty little foot?And wha will glove my hand?And who will lace my middle jimpWi this lang London whang?

2'And wha will comb my yellow, yellow hair,Wi this fine rispen kame?And wha will be my bairn's father,Till Lord Gregory come hame?'

Stenhouse's Johnson's Museum, IV, *107, communicated by Kirkpatrick Sharpe, "as generally sung by the people of Galloway and Dumfriesshire."

'O open the door, Love Gregory,O open, and let me in;The wind blows through my yellow hair,And the dew draps oer my chin.'

82. kine.11. His mother:margin of the MS.20. Mother:margin.22. Lady.23. Gregory:margin.24. Mother:margin.

82. kine.

11. His mother:margin of the MS.

20. Mother:margin.

22. Lady.

23. Gregory:margin.

24. Mother:margin.

13. who.22, 42.Herd printsTabean birben.12. His mother speaks to her from the house and she thinks it him:margin of the MS.141. has (?).15follows17 in the MS.163.Herd printsmaidenhead.20. The son speaks:margin.251. corp(?).

13. who.

22, 42.Herd printsTabean birben.

12. His mother speaks to her from the house and she thinks it him:margin of the MS.

141. has (?).

15follows17 in the MS.

163.Herd printsmaidenhead.

20. The son speaks:margin.

251. corp(?).

After 2.Then Lord Gregory's mother answers, counterfeiting her son.After 4.The mother, still counterfeiting her son, says.The old woman who sang the ballad, says Pitcairn, murmured over these words as a sort of recitative, and then resumed the song, with a slight variation of voice.

After 2.Then Lord Gregory's mother answers, counterfeiting her son.

After 4.The mother, still counterfeiting her son, says.

The old woman who sang the ballad, says Pitcairn, murmured over these words as a sort of recitative, and then resumed the song, with a slight variation of voice.

34. linnen;probably a way of pronouncingLondon.

Jamieson adopts several readings fromEa,besides making some slight alterations of his own, and inserts these two stanzas, "from memory,"between 21 and 22:

Tak down, tak down the mast o goud,Set up the mast o tree;Ill sets it a forsaken ladyTo sail sae gallantlie.Tak down, tak down the sails o silk,Set up the sails o skin;Ill sets the outside to be gayWhan there's sic grief within.

Tak down, tak down the mast o goud,Set up the mast o tree;Ill sets it a forsaken ladyTo sail sae gallantlie.

Tak down, tak down the sails o silk,Set up the sails o skin;Ill sets the outside to be gayWhan there's sic grief within.

For the first of these seeB19.

E. a.

quha, ze,etc.,of the MS. are printedwha, ye,etc.

Scott's version, described as composed fromB,E a,F, and two recited copies, is ratherE a, excepting 63, 4and 16, interpolated with six stanzas fromB, five fromF, and two lines from other sources, with a few verbal changes. It is, neglecting these verbal changes (also in part derived fromB,E a,F), made up thus:1-5=E a1-5; 6=F31+F34+two lines from other sources; 7-9=F4-6; 10=B10; 11=F7; 12=E a7; 13=F8; 14-20=E a8-14; 21=B16; 22=E a15; 23-25=B15, 18, 19; 26=E a17; 27=B20; 28-38=E a18-28; 39=E a281-3+B254.Scott hasLord GregoryforLove Gregor,orLove Gregory,throughout, andLochroyanforRough (Roch) Royal.34. Till Lord Gregory come to land.63, 4.

1-5=E a1-5; 6=F31+F34+two lines from other sources; 7-9=F4-6; 10=B10; 11=F7; 12=E a7; 13=F8; 14-20=E a8-14; 21=B16; 22=E a15; 23-25=B15, 18, 19; 26=E a17; 27=B20; 28-38=E a18-28; 39=E a281-3+B254.

Scott hasLord GregoryforLove Gregor,orLove Gregory,throughout, andLochroyanforRough (Roch) Royal.

34. Till Lord Gregory come to land.

63, 4.

The sails were o the light-green silk,The tows o taffety.243, 4.Fair Annie floated through the faem,But the babie raise no more.

The sails were o the light-green silk,The tows o taffety.

243, 4.Fair Annie floated through the faem,But the babie raise no more.

44. Ands lands:Buchan printsIn's.62. For mony:Buchan printsThro mony.124. fause reason:Buchan printsfause lynin.143.Buchan printsor vile warlock.

44. Ands lands:Buchan printsIn's.

62. For mony:Buchan printsThro mony.

124. fause reason:Buchan printsfause lynin.

143.Buchan printsor vile warlock.

"I find myself quite unable to arrange the fragments of the 'Lass of Aughrim' in anything like decent symmetry. The idea that I have of the arrangement is that the Lass begins with a sort of soliloquy, lamenting her condition; that she sings this at the door of a castle, shut against her; that she hears Gregory's voice within, and then appeals to him for admittance; and then comes the dialogue between them."The [third] stanza, as I heard the thing sung, was repeated as a burden after all the succeeding stanzas, even when the Lad and not the Lass speaks; but I do not think it followed the [first two] stanzas; they were a sort of introduction."Mr Mahon, December, 1884, May, 1885.

"The [third] stanza, as I heard the thing sung, was repeated as a burden after all the succeeding stanzas, even when the Lad and not the Lass speaks; but I do not think it followed the [first two] stanzas; they were a sort of introduction."Mr Mahon, December, 1884, May, 1885.

FOOTNOTES:[125]Jamieson tells us, p. 44, that when a boy he had frequently heard the ballad chanted in Morayshire, and no mention was ever made of "fairy charms."[126]C3, 4 are evidently misplaced, and belong in that part of the story whereB8, 9 occur.[127]Liebrecht has noted many of the above in his 'Volkskunde.' A man requires identification of a woman in a very ill preserved ballad in Motherwell's MS., p. 320.

[125]Jamieson tells us, p. 44, that when a boy he had frequently heard the ballad chanted in Morayshire, and no mention was ever made of "fairy charms."

[126]C3, 4 are evidently misplaced, and belong in that part of the story whereB8, 9 occur.

[127]Liebrecht has noted many of the above in his 'Volkskunde.' A man requires identification of a woman in a very ill preserved ballad in Motherwell's MS., p. 320.

A.'Sweet William's Ghost,' Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, "4th volume, 1740;" here from the London edition of 1763, p. 324.B.Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49, stanzas 27 ff.C.'Marjorie and William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 262, 'William and Marjorie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 186.D.Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 86.E.'Sweet William and May Margaret,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.F.Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, stanzas 26 ff.G.Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 183, ed. 1833.

A.'Sweet William's Ghost,' Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, "4th volume, 1740;" here from the London edition of 1763, p. 324.

B.Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49, stanzas 27 ff.

C.'Marjorie and William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 262, 'William and Marjorie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 186.

D.Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 86.

E.'Sweet William and May Margaret,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.

F.Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, stanzas 26 ff.

G.Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 183, ed. 1833.

Ramsay's copy,A, was reprinted by Percy, Reliques, 1765, III, 128, and by Herd, 1769, p. 194, 1776, I, 76. Percy remarks that the concluding stanza seems modern. There can be no doubt that both that and the one before it are modern; but, to the extent of Margaret's dying on her lover's grave, they are very likely to represent original verses not remembered in form.Bconstitutes, in Herd's MSS, andF, in Jamieson's Popular Ballads, the termination of a copy of 'Clerk Saunders.' Scott appended the three stanzas given asGto the later edition of hisrifacimentoof the copies of 'Clerk Saunders' in Herd's MSS, and saysof them: "I am informed by the reciter that it was usual to separate from the rest that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers, as belonging to another story." The first part ofFwas evidently derived from 'Proud Lady Margaret,' No. 47.

Motherwell notes, Minstrelsy, p. lxiii, 6, that in recited copies he had heard this stanza repeated, "which does not occur in printed copies" (and can easily be spared), afterA14.[128]

My meikle tae is my gavil-post,My nose is my roof-tree,My ribs are kebars to my house,And there is nae room for thee.

The story of this ballad seems to have become disordered in most of the versions.Aalone, the first published, has perhaps retained the original form. The principal idea is, however, preserved in all the full versions,A-E; the dead lover returns to ask back his unfulfilled troth-plight. His mistress, not knowing that he is dead, demands that he shall first come within her bower and kiss her,A,B,C. He answers that if he does this her days will not be long. She persists; he shall take her to kirk,[129]and wed her with a ring,A,E. He then tells her distinctly that he is dead, and she returns to him his faith and troth. She streaks her troth on a long wand and gives it to him through a window,B. InAshe stretches out her white hand, "to do her best;" inC"takes up" her white hand, and strikes him on the breast; inEtakes her white hand and smooths it on his breast; all of which are possibly corruptions of the ceremony performed inB. InDshe takes a silver key and strikes him three times on the breast. She follows the dead till he comes to his grave,A,B,C,D(?)F, which is wrongly said inA,Eto be far beyond the sea. She asks if there is room for her in his grave, and is told there is not,A,F[there is room,B,D]. She dies at his grave,A; is told that her days will not be long,F; inG, goes weeping away.

Margaret will not give William back his faith and troth, inB,D,E, unless he resolves certain questions about the state of the dead; what becomes of women that die in travail; where the women go who hang themselves for sin; where unbaptized children. Mere curiosity does not sort well with this very seriously conceived ballad, and these passages have probably grown out of a not unnatural inquiry on the part of Margaret as to her lover's personal state, extended inE12 to "tell me the pleasures o heaven, and pains o hell how they be." The scene at the grave inC11-13 may be judged grotesque, but is not trivial or unimpressive. These verses may be supposed not to have belonged to the earliest form of the ballad, and one does not miss them fromA, but they cannot be an accretion of modern date.

Sir Walter Scott informs us, in the Advertisement to The Pirate, that the lady whose affections had been engaged by Goff, the historical prototype of Cleveland, "went up to London to see him before his death, and that, arriving too late, she had the courage to request a sight of his body; and then touching the hand of the corpse, she formally resumed the troth-plight which she had bestowed." "Without going through this ceremony," Scott goes on to say, "she could not, according to the superstition of the country, have escaped a visit from the ghost of her departed lover, in the event of her bestowing upon any living suitor the faith which she had plighted to the dead."[130]

'Sweet William's Ghost' has much in common with one of the most beautiful and celebrated of the Scandinavian ballads, and may well be a different development of the same story:

Danish.'Fæstemanden i Graven' ('Aage og Else'), Grundtvig, No 90, II, 492-97, III, 870-74,Afrom a manuscript of the seventeenth century,Bfrom about 1700,Cfrom recent tradition.Swedish.'Sorgens Magt,'A,B, Afzelius, No 6, I, 29, II, 204;C, Arwidsson, No 91, II, 103;D, Wigström, Skånska Visor, No 8, the same, Folkdiktning, I, 17, No 6, 'Den döde brudgummen:' all from recent tradition.

According to the oldest version, DanishA,[131]from which the others do not materially vary, a man dies just as he is to be married. His love grieves for him passionately. The dead hears her under the ground, comes to her bower with his coffin on his back, and knocks. She lets him in after he has proved himself to be "a spirit of health" by uttering the name of Jesus, combs his hair, and asks him how it is under the black earth (cf. English,E12). It is like the bliss of heaven. May she follow him into his grave? It is like blackest hell. Every time she weeps for him his coffin is filled with lappered blood. But when she sings and is happy, his grave is all hung with rose-leaves. The cock crows, the white, the red, the black; he takes up his coffin and goes wearily back to the graveyard. His love follows through the mirk wood (so SwedishA9, cf. EnglishB11), to the churchyard, and into the church. Then his yellow hair falls away, his rosy color wans. He bids her go home and never weep for him more. "Look up at the sky, the night is going;" and as she looks he slips into his grave. She goes sadly home, prays God that she may not live out a year and a day, falls sick, and dies within a month.

The Scandinavian ballad agrees in many particulars with the conclusion of the second lay of Helgi Hundingsbani in the older Edda. Helgi, having been slain by Sigrún's brother, is bitterly bewailed by Sigrún. He quits his barrow to come to her. Sigrún will kiss him, but his hair is thick with hoar-frost, he is drenched in blood, and how is this? These are the grim tears that Sigrún has shed, every one of which falls on his breast. Sigrún says she will sleep in his arms as though he were alive, and goes into the barrow with him. The end of the story is lost; according to a prose tradition which professes to supply the close, Sigrún soon died of grief. The source of the later ballads is perceptible here.

In the English ballad the dead lover returns of his own motion, simply to ask back his troth; in the Scandinavian, his betrothed grieves him out of his grave, "hon sörjer sin fästeman ur graf," and the object of his visit is to admonish her to restrain her tears, which prevent his happy repose. A fragmentary story with this turn, which perhaps may even have been a variety of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' will be found in the ballad which follows this.

In a somewhat popular German ballad, 'Der todte Freier,' a dead man comes to the window of his betrothed in the night and calls her. She does not recognize him; says he smells of the ground. He has been eight years in the ground, and that may be. He bids her summon father, mother, and friends, for her bridegroom has come. She is decked as for her wedding; at the first sound of the bell makes her will or receives the sacrament, and dies at the second.[132]

A young man goes to the grave of his betrothed and asks his love-tokens back; she refers him to her mother, and tells him she will join him in a year: Haupt u. Schmaler, I, 88, No 55. This returning of gifts by the dead is not an infrequent phenomenon: Čelakowský,i, 4, No 2=Wenzig, Slawische Volkslieder, p. 57, andIII, 16, No 6; Beaurepaire, p. 53, Le Héricher, Lit. pop. de Normandie, p. 160 f; Briz y Candi, I, 140, Milá, Observaciones, p. 155, No 50, Milá, Romancerillo, pp 320-22, No 337,D,E,A11,B11.

Ais translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 34, No 4; by Herder, BookIII, No 8; Bodmer, II, 36; Wackernagel, Altdeutsche Blätter, I, 189; Döring, p. 391; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 86, No 23; von Marées, p. 24.Cby Grundtvig, p. 319, No 90; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 30, Hausschatz, p. 205; Knortz, as above, p. 179, No 49. A compound ofD,C,A, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 53, No 12.

Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, "4th volume, 1740;" here from the London edition of 1763, p. 324.

1There came a ghost to Margret's door,With many a grievous groan,And ay he tirled at the pin,But answer made she none.2'Is that my father Philip,Or is't my brother John?Or is't my true-love, Willy,From Scotland new come home?'3''Tis not thy father Philip,Nor yet thy brother John;But 'tis thy true-love, Willy,From Scotland new come home.4'O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,I pray thee speak to me;Give me my faith and troth, Margret,As I gave it to thee.'5'Thy faith and troth thou's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,Till that thou come within my bower,And kiss my cheek and chin.'6'If I shoud come within thy bower,I am no earthly man;And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips,Thy days will not be lang.7'O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,I pray thee speak to me;Give me my faith and troth, Margret,As I gave it to thee.'8'Thy faith and troth thou's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,Till you take me to yon kirk,And wed me with a ring.'9'My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,Afar beyond the sea,And it is but my spirit, Margret,That's now speaking to thee.'10She stretchd out her lilly-white hand,And, for to do her best,'Hae, there's your faith and troth, Willy,God send your soul good rest.'11Now she has kilted her robes of greenA piece below her knee,And a' the live-lang winter nightThe dead corp followed she.12'Is there any room at your head, Willy?Or any room at your feet?Or any room at your side, Willy,Wherein that I may creep?'13'There's no room at my head, Margret,There's no room at my feet;There's no room at my side, Margret,My coffin's made so meet.'14Then up and crew the red, red cock,And up then crew the gray:'Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,That you were going away.'15No more the ghost to Margret said,But, with a grievous groan,Evanishd in a cloud of mist,And left her all alone.16'O stay, my only true-love, stay,'The constant Margret cry'd;Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een,Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy'd.

1There came a ghost to Margret's door,With many a grievous groan,And ay he tirled at the pin,But answer made she none.

2'Is that my father Philip,Or is't my brother John?Or is't my true-love, Willy,From Scotland new come home?'

3''Tis not thy father Philip,Nor yet thy brother John;But 'tis thy true-love, Willy,From Scotland new come home.

4'O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,I pray thee speak to me;Give me my faith and troth, Margret,As I gave it to thee.'

5'Thy faith and troth thou's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,Till that thou come within my bower,And kiss my cheek and chin.'

6'If I shoud come within thy bower,I am no earthly man;And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips,Thy days will not be lang.

7'O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,I pray thee speak to me;Give me my faith and troth, Margret,As I gave it to thee.'

8'Thy faith and troth thou's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,Till you take me to yon kirk,And wed me with a ring.'

9'My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,Afar beyond the sea,And it is but my spirit, Margret,That's now speaking to thee.'

10She stretchd out her lilly-white hand,And, for to do her best,'Hae, there's your faith and troth, Willy,God send your soul good rest.'

11Now she has kilted her robes of greenA piece below her knee,And a' the live-lang winter nightThe dead corp followed she.

12'Is there any room at your head, Willy?Or any room at your feet?Or any room at your side, Willy,Wherein that I may creep?'

13'There's no room at my head, Margret,There's no room at my feet;There's no room at my side, Margret,My coffin's made so meet.'

14Then up and crew the red, red cock,And up then crew the gray:'Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,That you were going away.'

15No more the ghost to Margret said,But, with a grievous groan,Evanishd in a cloud of mist,And left her all alone.

16'O stay, my only true-love, stay,'The constant Margret cry'd;Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een,Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy'd.

Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49, stanzas 27 ff.

1Whan bells war rung, an mass was sung,A wat a' man to bed were gone,Clark Sanders came to Margret's window,With mony a sad sigh and groan.2'Are ye sleeping, Margret,' he says,'Or are ye waking, presentlie?Give me my faith and trouthe again,A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.'3'Your faith and trouth ye's never get,Nor our trew love shall never twain,Till ye come with me in my bower,And kiss me both cheek and chin.'4'My mouth it is full cold, Margret,It has the smell now of the ground;And if I kiss thy comely mouth,Thy life-days will not be long.5'Cocks are crowing a merry mid-larf,I wat the wild fule boded day;Gie me my faith and trouthe again,And let me fare me on my way.'6'Thy faith and trouth thou shall na get,Nor our trew love shall never twin,Till ye tell me what comes of womenAwat that dy's in strong traveling.'7'Their beds are made in the heavens high,Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,Well set about wi gilly-flowers,A wat sweet company for to see.8'O cocks are crowing a merry midd-larf,A wat the wilde foule boded day;The salms of Heaven will be sung,And ere now I'le be misst away.'9Up she has tain a bright long wand,And she has straked her trouth thereon;She has given [it] him out at the shot-window,Wi many a sad sigh and heavy groan.10'I thank you, Margret, I thank you, Margret,And I thank you hartilie;Gine ever the dead come for the quick,Be sure, Margret, I'll come again for thee.'11It's hose an shoon an gound alaneShe clame the wall and followed him,Untill she came to a green forest,On this she lost the sight of him.12'Is their any room at your head, Sanders?Is their any room at your feet?Or any room at your twa sides?Whare fain, fain woud I sleep.'13'Their is na room at my head, Margret,Their is na room at my feet;There is room at my twa sides,For ladys for to sleep.14'Cold meal is my covering owre,But an my winding sheet;My bed it is full low, I say,Down among the hongerey worms I sleep.15'Cold meal is my covering owre,But an my winding sheet;The dew it falls na sooner downThen ay it is full weet.'

1Whan bells war rung, an mass was sung,A wat a' man to bed were gone,Clark Sanders came to Margret's window,With mony a sad sigh and groan.

2'Are ye sleeping, Margret,' he says,'Or are ye waking, presentlie?Give me my faith and trouthe again,A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.'

3'Your faith and trouth ye's never get,Nor our trew love shall never twain,Till ye come with me in my bower,And kiss me both cheek and chin.'

4'My mouth it is full cold, Margret,It has the smell now of the ground;And if I kiss thy comely mouth,Thy life-days will not be long.

5'Cocks are crowing a merry mid-larf,I wat the wild fule boded day;Gie me my faith and trouthe again,And let me fare me on my way.'

6'Thy faith and trouth thou shall na get,Nor our trew love shall never twin,Till ye tell me what comes of womenAwat that dy's in strong traveling.'

7'Their beds are made in the heavens high,Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,Well set about wi gilly-flowers,A wat sweet company for to see.

8'O cocks are crowing a merry midd-larf,A wat the wilde foule boded day;The salms of Heaven will be sung,And ere now I'le be misst away.'

9Up she has tain a bright long wand,And she has straked her trouth thereon;She has given [it] him out at the shot-window,Wi many a sad sigh and heavy groan.

10'I thank you, Margret, I thank you, Margret,And I thank you hartilie;Gine ever the dead come for the quick,Be sure, Margret, I'll come again for thee.'

11It's hose an shoon an gound alaneShe clame the wall and followed him,Untill she came to a green forest,On this she lost the sight of him.

12'Is their any room at your head, Sanders?Is their any room at your feet?Or any room at your twa sides?Whare fain, fain woud I sleep.'

13'Their is na room at my head, Margret,Their is na room at my feet;There is room at my twa sides,For ladys for to sleep.

14'Cold meal is my covering owre,But an my winding sheet;My bed it is full low, I say,Down among the hongerey worms I sleep.

15'Cold meal is my covering owre,But an my winding sheet;The dew it falls na sooner downThen ay it is full weet.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 262, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 186, from the recitation of Mrs McCormick, and learned by her in Dumbarton, from an old woman, thirty years before: January 19, 1825.

1Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,Sat sewing her silken seam;By her came a pale, pale ghost,With many a sich and mane.2'Are ye my father, the king?' she says,'Or are ye my brother John?Or are you my true-love, Sweet William,From England newly come?'3'I'm not your father, the king,' he says,'No, no, nor your brother John;But I'm your true love, Sweet William,From England that's newly come.'4'Have ye brought me any scarlets so red?Or any silks so fine?Or have ye brought me any precious things,That merchants have for sale?'5'I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,No, no, nor the silks so fine;But I have brought you my winding-sheet,Oer many's the rock and hill.6'O Lady Marjory, Lady Marjory,For faith and charitie,Will you give to me my faith and troth,That I gave once to thee?'7'O your faith and troth I'll not give thee,No, no, that will not I,Until I get one kiss of your ruby lips,And in my arms you come [lye].'8'My lips they are so bitter,' he says,'My breath it is so strong,If you get one kiss of my ruby lips,Your days will not be long.9'The cocks they are crowing, Marjory,' he says,'The cocks they are crawing again;It's time the deid should part the quick,Marjorie, I must be gane.'10She followed him high, she followed him low,Till she came to yon church-yard;O there the grave did open up,And young William he lay down.11'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,'That stands here at your head?''It's three maidens, Marjorie,' he says,'That I promised once to wed.'12'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,'That stands here at your side?''It is three babes, Marjorie,' he says,'That these three maidens had.'13'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,'That stands here at your feet?''It is three hell-hounds, Marjorie,' he says,'That's waiting my soul to keep.'14She took up her white, white hand,And she struck him in the breast,Saying, Have there again your faith and troth,And I wish your soul good rest.

1Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,Sat sewing her silken seam;By her came a pale, pale ghost,With many a sich and mane.

2'Are ye my father, the king?' she says,'Or are ye my brother John?Or are you my true-love, Sweet William,From England newly come?'

3'I'm not your father, the king,' he says,'No, no, nor your brother John;But I'm your true love, Sweet William,From England that's newly come.'

4'Have ye brought me any scarlets so red?Or any silks so fine?Or have ye brought me any precious things,That merchants have for sale?'

5'I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,No, no, nor the silks so fine;But I have brought you my winding-sheet,Oer many's the rock and hill.

6'O Lady Marjory, Lady Marjory,For faith and charitie,Will you give to me my faith and troth,That I gave once to thee?'

7'O your faith and troth I'll not give thee,No, no, that will not I,Until I get one kiss of your ruby lips,And in my arms you come [lye].'

8'My lips they are so bitter,' he says,'My breath it is so strong,If you get one kiss of my ruby lips,Your days will not be long.

9'The cocks they are crowing, Marjory,' he says,'The cocks they are crawing again;It's time the deid should part the quick,Marjorie, I must be gane.'

10She followed him high, she followed him low,Till she came to yon church-yard;O there the grave did open up,And young William he lay down.

11'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,'That stands here at your head?''It's three maidens, Marjorie,' he says,'That I promised once to wed.'

12'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,'That stands here at your side?''It is three babes, Marjorie,' he says,'That these three maidens had.'

13'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,'That stands here at your feet?''It is three hell-hounds, Marjorie,' he says,'That's waiting my soul to keep.'

14She took up her white, white hand,And she struck him in the breast,Saying, Have there again your faith and troth,And I wish your soul good rest.

From tradition: Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 86.

1Lady Margaret was in her wearie room,Sewin her silken seam,And in cam Willie, her true-love,Frae Lundin new come hame.2'O are ye my father Philip,Or are ye my brither John?Or are ye my true-love, Willie,Frae London new come home?'3'I'm nae your father Philip,Nor am I your brother John;But I am your true-love, Willie,An I'm nae a levin man.4'But gie me my faith and troth, Margrat,An let me pass on my way;For the bells o heaven will be rung,An I'll be mist away.'5'Yere faith and troth ye'se never get,Till ye tell me this ane;Till ye tell me where the women goThat hang themsell for sin.'6'O they gang till the low, low hell,Just by the devil's knee;It's a' clad ower wi burnin pitch,A dreadfu sicht to see.'7'But your faith and troth ye'se never get,Till you tell me again;Till you tell me where the children goThat die without a name.'8'O they gang till the high, high heaven,Just by our Saviour's knee,An it's a' clad ower wi roses red,A lovelie sicht to see.9'But gie me my faith and troth, Margrat,And let me pass on my way;For the psalms o heaven will be sung,An I'll be mist away.'10'But your faith and troth yese never getTill ye tell me again;Till ye tell me where the women goThat die in child-beddin.'11'O they gang till the hie, hie heaven,Just by our Saviour's knee,And every day at twal o clockThey're dipped oer the head.12'But gie me my faith and troth, Margret,And let me pass on my way;For the gates o heaven will be shut,And I'll be mist away.'13Then she has taen a silver key,Gien him three times on the breast;Says, There's your faith and troth, Willie,I hope your soul will rest.14'But is there room at your head, Willie?Or is there room at your feet?Or is there room at any o your sides,To let in a lover sweet?'15'There is nae room at my head, Margrat,There's nae room at my feet,But there is room at baith my sides,To lat in a lover sweet.'

1Lady Margaret was in her wearie room,Sewin her silken seam,And in cam Willie, her true-love,Frae Lundin new come hame.

2'O are ye my father Philip,Or are ye my brither John?Or are ye my true-love, Willie,Frae London new come home?'

3'I'm nae your father Philip,Nor am I your brother John;But I am your true-love, Willie,An I'm nae a levin man.

4'But gie me my faith and troth, Margrat,An let me pass on my way;For the bells o heaven will be rung,An I'll be mist away.'

5'Yere faith and troth ye'se never get,Till ye tell me this ane;Till ye tell me where the women goThat hang themsell for sin.'

6'O they gang till the low, low hell,Just by the devil's knee;It's a' clad ower wi burnin pitch,A dreadfu sicht to see.'

7'But your faith and troth ye'se never get,Till you tell me again;Till you tell me where the children goThat die without a name.'

8'O they gang till the high, high heaven,Just by our Saviour's knee,An it's a' clad ower wi roses red,A lovelie sicht to see.

9'But gie me my faith and troth, Margrat,And let me pass on my way;For the psalms o heaven will be sung,An I'll be mist away.'

10'But your faith and troth yese never getTill ye tell me again;Till ye tell me where the women goThat die in child-beddin.'

11'O they gang till the hie, hie heaven,Just by our Saviour's knee,And every day at twal o clockThey're dipped oer the head.

12'But gie me my faith and troth, Margret,And let me pass on my way;For the gates o heaven will be shut,And I'll be mist away.'

13Then she has taen a silver key,Gien him three times on the breast;Says, There's your faith and troth, Willie,I hope your soul will rest.

14'But is there room at your head, Willie?Or is there room at your feet?Or is there room at any o your sides,To let in a lover sweet?'

15'There is nae room at my head, Margrat,There's nae room at my feet,But there is room at baith my sides,To lat in a lover sweet.'

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.

1As May Margret sat in her bouerie,In her bouer all alone,At the very parting o midnichtShe heard a mournfu moan.2'O is it my father? O is it my mother?Or is it my brother John?Or is it Sweet William, my ain true-love,To Scotland new come home?'3'It is na your father, it is na your mother,It is na your brother John;But it is Sweet William, your ain true-love,To Scotland new come home.'4'Hae ye brought me onie fine things,Onie new thing for to wear?Or hae ye brought me a braid o lace,To snood up my gowden hair?'5'I've brought ye na fine things at all,Nor onie new thing to wear,Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace,To snood up your gowden hair.6'But Margaret, dear Margaret,I pray ye speak to me;O gie me back my faith and troth,As dear as I gied it thee.'7'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,Nor will I wi ye twin,Till ye come within my bouer,And kiss me, cheek and chin.'8'O should I come within your bouer,I am na earthly man;If I should kiss your red, red lips,Your days wad na be lang.9'O Margaret, dear Margaret,I pray ye speak to me;O gie me back my faith and troth,As dear as I gied it thee.'10'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,Nor will I wi ye twin,Till ye tak me to yonder kirk,And wed me wi a ring.'11'My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard,It's far ayont the sea;And it is my spirit, Margaret,That's speaking unto thee.'12'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,Nor will I twin wi thee,Till ye tell me the pleasures o heaven,And pains of hell how they be.'13'The pleasures of heaven I wat not of,But the pains of hell I dree;There some are hie hangd for huring,And some for adulterie.'14Then Margret took her milk-white hand,And smoothd it on his breast:'Tak your faith and troth, William,God send your soul good rest!'

1As May Margret sat in her bouerie,In her bouer all alone,At the very parting o midnichtShe heard a mournfu moan.

2'O is it my father? O is it my mother?Or is it my brother John?Or is it Sweet William, my ain true-love,To Scotland new come home?'

3'It is na your father, it is na your mother,It is na your brother John;But it is Sweet William, your ain true-love,To Scotland new come home.'

4'Hae ye brought me onie fine things,Onie new thing for to wear?Or hae ye brought me a braid o lace,To snood up my gowden hair?'

5'I've brought ye na fine things at all,Nor onie new thing to wear,Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace,To snood up your gowden hair.

6'But Margaret, dear Margaret,I pray ye speak to me;O gie me back my faith and troth,As dear as I gied it thee.'

7'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,Nor will I wi ye twin,Till ye come within my bouer,And kiss me, cheek and chin.'

8'O should I come within your bouer,I am na earthly man;If I should kiss your red, red lips,Your days wad na be lang.

9'O Margaret, dear Margaret,I pray ye speak to me;O gie me back my faith and troth,As dear as I gied it thee.'

10'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,Nor will I wi ye twin,Till ye tak me to yonder kirk,And wed me wi a ring.'

11'My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard,It's far ayont the sea;And it is my spirit, Margaret,That's speaking unto thee.'

12'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,Nor will I twin wi thee,Till ye tell me the pleasures o heaven,And pains of hell how they be.'

13'The pleasures of heaven I wat not of,But the pains of hell I dree;There some are hie hangd for huring,And some for adulterie.'

14Then Margret took her milk-white hand,And smoothd it on his breast:'Tak your faith and troth, William,God send your soul good rest!'

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