VOL. III.

¿Qué señas me dabasPor ser conocida? et cét.

¿Qué señas me dabas

Por ser conocida? et cét.

II, 213. There is a version of this ballad in the Roxburghe collection, III, 488, a folio slip without imprint, dated in the Museum Catalogue 1740. I was not aware of the existence of this copy till it was printed by Mr Ebsworth in the Roxburghe Ballads, VI, 609. He puts the date of issuecirca1765. It is here given from the original. CompareH.

THE LASS OF OCRAM1I built my love a gallant ship,And a ship of Northern fame,And such a ship as I did build,Sure there never was seen.2For her sides were of the beaten gold,And the doors were of block-tin,And sure such a ship as I builtThere sure never was seen.3And as she was a sailing,By herself all alone,She spied a proud merchant-man,Come plowing oer the main.4‘Thou fairest of all creaturesUnder the heavens,’ said she,‘I am the Lass of Ocram,Seeking for Lord Gregory.’5‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,As I take you for to be,You must go to yonder island,There Lord Gregory you’ll see.’6‘It rains upon my yellow locks,And the dew falls on my skin;Open the gates, Lord Gregory,And let your true-love in!’7‘If you’re the Lass of Ocram,As I take you not to be,You must mention the three tokensWhich passd between you and me.’8‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,One night on my father’s hill,With you I swaft my linen fine?It was sore against my will.9‘For mine was of the Holland fine,And yours but Scotch cloth;For mine cost a guinea a yard,And yours but five groats.’10‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,As I think you not to be,You must mention the second tokenThat passd between you and me.’11‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,One night in my father’s park,We swaffed our two rings?It was all in the dark.12‘For mine was of the beaten gold,And yours was of block-tin;And mine was true love without,And yours all false within.’13‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,As I take you not to be,You must mention the third tokenWhich past between you and me.’14‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,One night in my father’s hall,Where you stole my maidenhead?Which was the worst of all.’15‘Begone, you base creature!Begone from out of the hall!Or else in the deep seasYou and your babe shall fall.’16‘Then who will shoe my bonny feet?And who will close my hands?And who will lace my waste so small,Into a landen span?17‘And who will comb my yellow locks,With a brown berry comb?And who’s to be father of my childIf Lord Gregory is none?’18‘Let your brother shoe your bonny feet,Let your sister close your hands,Let your mother lace your waist so small,Into a landen span.19‘Let your father comb your yellow locks,With a brown berry comb,And let God be father of your child,For Lord Gregory is none.’20‘I dreamt a dream, dear mother,I could wish to have it read;I saw the Lass of OcramA floating on the flood.’21‘Lie still, my dearest son,And take thy sweet rest;It is not half an hour ago,The maid passd this place.’22‘Ah! cursed be you, mother!And cursed may you be,That you did not awake me,When the maid passd this way!23‘I will go down into some silent grove,My sad moan for to make;It is for the Lass of OcramMy poor heart now will break.’

THE LASS OF OCRAM

1I built my love a gallant ship,And a ship of Northern fame,And such a ship as I did build,Sure there never was seen.

I built my love a gallant ship,

And a ship of Northern fame,

And such a ship as I did build,

Sure there never was seen.

2For her sides were of the beaten gold,And the doors were of block-tin,And sure such a ship as I builtThere sure never was seen.

For her sides were of the beaten gold,

And the doors were of block-tin,

And sure such a ship as I built

There sure never was seen.

3And as she was a sailing,By herself all alone,She spied a proud merchant-man,Come plowing oer the main.

And as she was a sailing,

By herself all alone,

She spied a proud merchant-man,

Come plowing oer the main.

4‘Thou fairest of all creaturesUnder the heavens,’ said she,‘I am the Lass of Ocram,Seeking for Lord Gregory.’

‘Thou fairest of all creatures

Under the heavens,’ said she,

‘I am the Lass of Ocram,

Seeking for Lord Gregory.’

5‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,As I take you for to be,You must go to yonder island,There Lord Gregory you’ll see.’

‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,

As I take you for to be,

You must go to yonder island,

There Lord Gregory you’ll see.’

6‘It rains upon my yellow locks,And the dew falls on my skin;Open the gates, Lord Gregory,And let your true-love in!’

‘It rains upon my yellow locks,

And the dew falls on my skin;

Open the gates, Lord Gregory,

And let your true-love in!’

7‘If you’re the Lass of Ocram,As I take you not to be,You must mention the three tokensWhich passd between you and me.’

‘If you’re the Lass of Ocram,

As I take you not to be,

You must mention the three tokens

Which passd between you and me.’

8‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,One night on my father’s hill,With you I swaft my linen fine?It was sore against my will.

‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,

One night on my father’s hill,

With you I swaft my linen fine?

It was sore against my will.

9‘For mine was of the Holland fine,And yours but Scotch cloth;For mine cost a guinea a yard,And yours but five groats.’

‘For mine was of the Holland fine,

And yours but Scotch cloth;

For mine cost a guinea a yard,

And yours but five groats.’

10‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,As I think you not to be,You must mention the second tokenThat passd between you and me.’

‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,

As I think you not to be,

You must mention the second token

That passd between you and me.’

11‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,One night in my father’s park,We swaffed our two rings?It was all in the dark.

‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,

One night in my father’s park,

We swaffed our two rings?

It was all in the dark.

12‘For mine was of the beaten gold,And yours was of block-tin;And mine was true love without,And yours all false within.’

‘For mine was of the beaten gold,

And yours was of block-tin;

And mine was true love without,

And yours all false within.’

13‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,As I take you not to be,You must mention the third tokenWhich past between you and me.’

‘If you are the Lass of Ocram,

As I take you not to be,

You must mention the third token

Which past between you and me.’

14‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,One night in my father’s hall,Where you stole my maidenhead?Which was the worst of all.’

‘Don’t you remember, Lord Gregory,

One night in my father’s hall,

Where you stole my maidenhead?

Which was the worst of all.’

15‘Begone, you base creature!Begone from out of the hall!Or else in the deep seasYou and your babe shall fall.’

‘Begone, you base creature!

Begone from out of the hall!

Or else in the deep seas

You and your babe shall fall.’

16‘Then who will shoe my bonny feet?And who will close my hands?And who will lace my waste so small,Into a landen span?

‘Then who will shoe my bonny feet?

And who will close my hands?

And who will lace my waste so small,

Into a landen span?

17‘And who will comb my yellow locks,With a brown berry comb?And who’s to be father of my childIf Lord Gregory is none?’

‘And who will comb my yellow locks,

With a brown berry comb?

And who’s to be father of my child

If Lord Gregory is none?’

18‘Let your brother shoe your bonny feet,Let your sister close your hands,Let your mother lace your waist so small,Into a landen span.

‘Let your brother shoe your bonny feet,

Let your sister close your hands,

Let your mother lace your waist so small,

Into a landen span.

19‘Let your father comb your yellow locks,With a brown berry comb,And let God be father of your child,For Lord Gregory is none.’

‘Let your father comb your yellow locks,

With a brown berry comb,

And let God be father of your child,

For Lord Gregory is none.’

20‘I dreamt a dream, dear mother,I could wish to have it read;I saw the Lass of OcramA floating on the flood.’

‘I dreamt a dream, dear mother,

I could wish to have it read;

I saw the Lass of Ocram

A floating on the flood.’

21‘Lie still, my dearest son,And take thy sweet rest;It is not half an hour ago,The maid passd this place.’

‘Lie still, my dearest son,

And take thy sweet rest;

It is not half an hour ago,

The maid passd this place.’

22‘Ah! cursed be you, mother!And cursed may you be,That you did not awake me,When the maid passd this way!

‘Ah! cursed be you, mother!

And cursed may you be,

That you did not awake me,

When the maid passd this way!

23‘I will go down into some silent grove,My sad moan for to make;It is for the Lass of OcramMy poor heart now will break.’

‘I will go down into some silent grove,

My sad moan for to make;

It is for the Lass of Ocram

My poor heart now will break.’

(41. Perhaps the reading was: The fairest, etc.)

Mr W. H. Babcock has printed a little ballad as sung in Virginia, in which are two stanzas that belong to ‘The Lass of Roch Royal:’ The Folk-Lore Journal, VII, 31.

‘Come along, come along, my pretty little miss,Come along, come along,’ said he,‘And seat yourself by me.’‘Neither will I come, and neither sit down,For I have not a moment’s time;For I heard that you had a new sweetheart,And your heart is no more mine.’‘It never was, and it never shall be,And it never was any such a thing;For yonder she stands, in her own father’s garden,The garden of the vine,Mourning for her own true love,Just like I’ve mourned for mine.’I laid my head in a little closet-door,To hear what my true love had to say,So that I might know a little of his mindBefore he went away.I laid my head on the side of his bed,My arms across his breast;I made him believe, for the fall of the year,The sun rose in the west.‘I’m going away, I’m coming back again,If it is ten thousand miles;It’s who will shoe your pretty little feet?And who will glove your hand?And who will kiss your red, rosy lips,While I’m in a foreign land?’‘My father will shoe my pretty little feet,My mother glove my hand,My babe will kiss my red, rosy lips,While you’re in a foreign land.’

‘Come along, come along, my pretty little miss,Come along, come along,’ said he,‘And seat yourself by me.’

‘Come along, come along, my pretty little miss,

Come along, come along,’ said he,

‘And seat yourself by me.’

‘Neither will I come, and neither sit down,For I have not a moment’s time;For I heard that you had a new sweetheart,And your heart is no more mine.’

‘Neither will I come, and neither sit down,

For I have not a moment’s time;

For I heard that you had a new sweetheart,

And your heart is no more mine.’

‘It never was, and it never shall be,And it never was any such a thing;For yonder she stands, in her own father’s garden,The garden of the vine,Mourning for her own true love,Just like I’ve mourned for mine.’

‘It never was, and it never shall be,

And it never was any such a thing;

For yonder she stands, in her own father’s garden,

The garden of the vine,

Mourning for her own true love,

Just like I’ve mourned for mine.’

I laid my head in a little closet-door,To hear what my true love had to say,So that I might know a little of his mindBefore he went away.

I laid my head in a little closet-door,

To hear what my true love had to say,

So that I might know a little of his mind

Before he went away.

I laid my head on the side of his bed,My arms across his breast;I made him believe, for the fall of the year,The sun rose in the west.

I laid my head on the side of his bed,

My arms across his breast;

I made him believe, for the fall of the year,

The sun rose in the west.

‘I’m going away, I’m coming back again,If it is ten thousand miles;It’s who will shoe your pretty little feet?And who will glove your hand?And who will kiss your red, rosy lips,While I’m in a foreign land?’

‘I’m going away, I’m coming back again,

If it is ten thousand miles;

It’s who will shoe your pretty little feet?

And who will glove your hand?

And who will kiss your red, rosy lips,

While I’m in a foreign land?’

‘My father will shoe my pretty little feet,My mother glove my hand,My babe will kiss my red, rosy lips,While you’re in a foreign land.’

‘My father will shoe my pretty little feet,

My mother glove my hand,

My babe will kiss my red, rosy lips,

While you’re in a foreign land.’

Mr James Mooney, of the Bureau of Ethnology, obtained two very similar stanzas in the ‘Carolina Mountains.’

‘O who will shoe your feet, my dear?Or who will glove your hands?Or who will kiss your red rosy cheeks,When I’m in the foreign lands?’‘My father will shoe my feet, my dear,My mother will glove my hands,And you may kiss my red rosy cheeksWhen you come from the foreign lands.’

‘O who will shoe your feet, my dear?Or who will glove your hands?Or who will kiss your red rosy cheeks,When I’m in the foreign lands?’

‘O who will shoe your feet, my dear?

Or who will glove your hands?

Or who will kiss your red rosy cheeks,

When I’m in the foreign lands?’

‘My father will shoe my feet, my dear,My mother will glove my hands,And you may kiss my red rosy cheeksWhen you come from the foreign lands.’

‘My father will shoe my feet, my dear,

My mother will glove my hands,

And you may kiss my red rosy cheeks

When you come from the foreign lands.’

P. 234.

‘In Gipsy Tents,’ by Francis Hindes Groome, 1880, p. 141, as sung by an old woman.

1‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,Cold blows the drops of rain;I never, never had but one sweet-heart,In the green wood he was slain.2‘But I’ll do as much for my true loveAs any young girl can do;I’ll sit and I’ll weep by his grave-sideFor a twelvemonth and one day.’3When the twelvemonth’s end and one day was past,This young man he arose:‘What makes you weep by my grave-sideFor twelve months and one day?’4‘Only one kiss from your lily cold lips,One kiss is all I crave;Only one kiss from your lily cold lips,And return back to your grave.’5‘My lip is cold as the clay, sweet-heart,My breath is earthly strong;If you should have a kiss from my cold lip,Your days will not be long.’6‘Go fetch me a note from the dungeon dark,Cold water from a stone;There I’ll sit and weep for my true loveFor a twelvemonth and one day.7‘Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep;I will lay down in it and take one sleep,For a twelvemonth and one day;I will lay down in it and take a long sleep,For a twelvemonth and a day.’

1‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,Cold blows the drops of rain;I never, never had but one sweet-heart,In the green wood he was slain.

‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,

Cold blows the drops of rain;

I never, never had but one sweet-heart,

In the green wood he was slain.

2‘But I’ll do as much for my true loveAs any young girl can do;I’ll sit and I’ll weep by his grave-sideFor a twelvemonth and one day.’

‘But I’ll do as much for my true love

As any young girl can do;

I’ll sit and I’ll weep by his grave-side

For a twelvemonth and one day.’

3When the twelvemonth’s end and one day was past,This young man he arose:‘What makes you weep by my grave-sideFor twelve months and one day?’

When the twelvemonth’s end and one day was past,

This young man he arose:

‘What makes you weep by my grave-side

For twelve months and one day?’

4‘Only one kiss from your lily cold lips,One kiss is all I crave;Only one kiss from your lily cold lips,And return back to your grave.’

‘Only one kiss from your lily cold lips,

One kiss is all I crave;

Only one kiss from your lily cold lips,

And return back to your grave.’

5‘My lip is cold as the clay, sweet-heart,My breath is earthly strong;If you should have a kiss from my cold lip,Your days will not be long.’

‘My lip is cold as the clay, sweet-heart,

My breath is earthly strong;

If you should have a kiss from my cold lip,

Your days will not be long.’

6‘Go fetch me a note from the dungeon dark,Cold water from a stone;There I’ll sit and weep for my true loveFor a twelvemonth and one day.

‘Go fetch me a note from the dungeon dark,

Cold water from a stone;

There I’ll sit and weep for my true love

For a twelvemonth and one day.

7‘Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep;I will lay down in it and take one sleep,For a twelvemonth and one day;I will lay down in it and take a long sleep,For a twelvemonth and a day.’

‘Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep;

I will lay down in it and take one sleep,

For a twelvemonth and one day;

I will lay down in it and take a long sleep,

For a twelvemonth and a day.’

‘Cold blows the wind,’ Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by Charlotte Sophia Burne, 1883–86, p. 542; “sung by Jane Butler, Edgmond, 1870–80.”

‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,Cold blow the drops of rain;I never, never had but one true love,And in Camvile he was slain.‘I’ll do as much for my true loveAs any young girl may;I’ll sit and weep down by his graveFor twelve months and one day.’But when twelve months were come and gone,This young man he arose:‘What makes you weep down by my grave?I can’t take my repose.’‘One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,One kiss is all I crave;One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,And return back to your grave.’‘My lips they are as cold as my clay,My breath is heavy and strong;If thou wast to kiss my lily-white lips,Thy days would not be long.‘O don’t you remember the garden-groveWhere we was used to walk?Pluck the finest flower of them all,‘Twill wither to a stalk.’‘Go fetch me a nut from a dungeon deep,And water from a stone,And white milk from a maiden’s breast[That babe bare never none].’

‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,Cold blow the drops of rain;I never, never had but one true love,And in Camvile he was slain.

‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,

Cold blow the drops of rain;

I never, never had but one true love,

And in Camvile he was slain.

‘I’ll do as much for my true loveAs any young girl may;I’ll sit and weep down by his graveFor twelve months and one day.’

‘I’ll do as much for my true love

As any young girl may;

I’ll sit and weep down by his grave

For twelve months and one day.’

But when twelve months were come and gone,This young man he arose:‘What makes you weep down by my grave?I can’t take my repose.’

But when twelve months were come and gone,

This young man he arose:

‘What makes you weep down by my grave?

I can’t take my repose.’

‘One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,One kiss is all I crave;One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,And return back to your grave.’

‘One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,

One kiss is all I crave;

One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,

And return back to your grave.’

‘My lips they are as cold as my clay,My breath is heavy and strong;If thou wast to kiss my lily-white lips,Thy days would not be long.

‘My lips they are as cold as my clay,

My breath is heavy and strong;

If thou wast to kiss my lily-white lips,

Thy days would not be long.

‘O don’t you remember the garden-groveWhere we was used to walk?Pluck the finest flower of them all,‘Twill wither to a stalk.’

‘O don’t you remember the garden-grove

Where we was used to walk?

Pluck the finest flower of them all,

‘Twill wither to a stalk.’

‘Go fetch me a nut from a dungeon deep,And water from a stone,And white milk from a maiden’s breast[That babe bare never none].’

‘Go fetch me a nut from a dungeon deep,

And water from a stone,

And white milk from a maiden’s breast

[That babe bare never none].’

From the singing of a wandering minstrel and story-teller of the parish of Cury, Cornwall. After the last stanza followed “a stormy kind of duet between the maiden and her lover’s ghost, who tries to persuade the maid to accompany him to the world of shadows.” Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, First Series, 1865, p. xvi.

1‘Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart,Cold are the drops of rain;The first truelove that ever I hadIn the green wood he was slain.2‘’Twas down in the garden-green, sweetheart,Where you and I did walk;The fairest flower that in the garden grewIs witherd to a stalk.3‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart,The flowers will neer return,And since my truelove is dead and gone,What can I do but mourn?’4A twelvemonth and a day being gone,The spirit rose and spoke:. . . . . . .. . . . . . .5‘My body is clay-cold, sweetheart,My breath smells heavy and strong,And if you kiss my lily-white lipsYour time will not be long.’

1‘Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart,Cold are the drops of rain;The first truelove that ever I hadIn the green wood he was slain.

‘Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart,

Cold are the drops of rain;

The first truelove that ever I had

In the green wood he was slain.

2‘’Twas down in the garden-green, sweetheart,Where you and I did walk;The fairest flower that in the garden grewIs witherd to a stalk.

‘’Twas down in the garden-green, sweetheart,

Where you and I did walk;

The fairest flower that in the garden grew

Is witherd to a stalk.

3‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart,The flowers will neer return,And since my truelove is dead and gone,What can I do but mourn?’

‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart,

The flowers will neer return,

And since my truelove is dead and gone,

What can I do but mourn?’

4A twelvemonth and a day being gone,The spirit rose and spoke:. . . . . . .. . . . . . .

A twelvemonth and a day being gone,

The spirit rose and spoke:

. . . . . . .

5‘My body is clay-cold, sweetheart,My breath smells heavy and strong,And if you kiss my lily-white lipsYour time will not be long.’

‘My body is clay-cold, sweetheart,

My breath smells heavy and strong,

And if you kiss my lily-white lips

Your time will not be long.’

235 f. Add: Gaspé, Les anciens Canadiens, Québec, 1877, I, 220 ff.; cited by Sébillot, Annuaire des Traditions populaires, 1887, p. 38 ff..

236.A5, etc. So Nigra,‘La Sposa morta,’ p. 122, No 17,D12: ‘Mia buca morta l’à odur di terra, ch’a l’era, viva, di roze e fiur.’

Little-Russian tale, Trudy, II, 416, No 122. A girl who is inconsolable for the death of her mother is advised to hide herself in the church after vespers on Thursday of the first week in Lent, and does so. At midnight the bells ring, and a dead priest performs the service for a congregation all of whom are dead. Among them is the girl’s godmother, who bids her begone before her mother remarks her. But the mother has already seen her daughter, and calls out, You here too? Weep no more for me. My coffin and my grave are filled with your tears; wretched it is to bathe in them! (W. W.) After this the mother’s behavior is not quite what we should expect. Cf. the tale in Gaspé, just cited.

II, 238.

‘The Widow-Woman,’ Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by Charlotte Sophia Burne, 1883–86, p. 541; “taken down by Mr Hubert Smith, 24th March, 1883, from the recitation of an elderly fisherman at Bridgworth, who could neither read nor write, and had learnt it some forty years before from his grandmother in Corve Dale.”

“The West and South Shropshire folk sayfarforfair.”

1There was a widow-woman lived in far Scotland,And in far Scotland she did live,And all her cry was upon sweet Jesus,Sweet Jesus so meek and mild.2Then Jesus arose one morning quite soon,And arose one morning betime,And away he went to far Scotland,And to see what the good woman want.3And when he came to far Scotland,. . . . . . .Crying, What, O what, does the good woman want,That is calling so much on me?4‘It’s you go rise up my three sons,Their names, Joe, Peter, and John,And put breath in their breast,And clothing on their backs,And immediately send them to far Scotland,That their mother may take some rest.’5Then he went and rose up her three sons,Their names, Joe, Peter, and John,And did immediately send them to far Scotland,That their mother may take some rest.6Then she made up a supper so neat,As small, as small, as a yew-tree leaf,But never one bit they could eat.7Then she made up a bed so soft,The softest that ever was seen,And the widow-woman and her three sonsThey went to bed to sleep.8There they lay; about the middle of the night,Bespeaks the youngest son:‘The white cock he has crowed once,The second has, so has the red.’9And then bespeaks the eldest son:‘I think, I think it is high timeFor the wicked to part from their dead,’10Then they laid [==led] her along a green road,The greenest that ever was seen,Until they came to some far chaperine,Which was builded of lime and sand;Until they came to some far chaperine,Which was builded with lime and stone.11And then he opened the door so big,And the door so very wide;Said he to her three sons, Walk in!But told her to stay outside.12‘Go back, go back!’ sweet Jesus replied,‘Go back, go back!’ says he;‘For thou hast nine days to repentFor the wickedness that thou hast done.’13Nine days then was past and gone,And nine days then was spent,Sweet Jesus called her once again,And took her to heaven with him.

1There was a widow-woman lived in far Scotland,And in far Scotland she did live,And all her cry was upon sweet Jesus,Sweet Jesus so meek and mild.

There was a widow-woman lived in far Scotland,

And in far Scotland she did live,

And all her cry was upon sweet Jesus,

Sweet Jesus so meek and mild.

2Then Jesus arose one morning quite soon,And arose one morning betime,And away he went to far Scotland,And to see what the good woman want.

Then Jesus arose one morning quite soon,

And arose one morning betime,

And away he went to far Scotland,

And to see what the good woman want.

3And when he came to far Scotland,. . . . . . .Crying, What, O what, does the good woman want,That is calling so much on me?

And when he came to far Scotland,

. . . . . . .

Crying, What, O what, does the good woman want,

That is calling so much on me?

4‘It’s you go rise up my three sons,Their names, Joe, Peter, and John,And put breath in their breast,And clothing on their backs,And immediately send them to far Scotland,That their mother may take some rest.’

‘It’s you go rise up my three sons,

Their names, Joe, Peter, and John,

And put breath in their breast,

And clothing on their backs,

And immediately send them to far Scotland,

That their mother may take some rest.’

5Then he went and rose up her three sons,Their names, Joe, Peter, and John,And did immediately send them to far Scotland,That their mother may take some rest.

Then he went and rose up her three sons,

Their names, Joe, Peter, and John,

And did immediately send them to far Scotland,

That their mother may take some rest.

6Then she made up a supper so neat,As small, as small, as a yew-tree leaf,But never one bit they could eat.

Then she made up a supper so neat,

As small, as small, as a yew-tree leaf,

But never one bit they could eat.

7Then she made up a bed so soft,The softest that ever was seen,And the widow-woman and her three sonsThey went to bed to sleep.

Then she made up a bed so soft,

The softest that ever was seen,

And the widow-woman and her three sons

They went to bed to sleep.

8There they lay; about the middle of the night,Bespeaks the youngest son:‘The white cock he has crowed once,The second has, so has the red.’

There they lay; about the middle of the night,

Bespeaks the youngest son:

‘The white cock he has crowed once,

The second has, so has the red.’

9And then bespeaks the eldest son:‘I think, I think it is high timeFor the wicked to part from their dead,’

And then bespeaks the eldest son:

‘I think, I think it is high time

For the wicked to part from their dead,’

10Then they laid [==led] her along a green road,The greenest that ever was seen,Until they came to some far chaperine,Which was builded of lime and sand;Until they came to some far chaperine,Which was builded with lime and stone.

Then they laid [==led] her along a green road,

The greenest that ever was seen,

Until they came to some far chaperine,

Which was builded of lime and sand;

Until they came to some far chaperine,

Which was builded with lime and stone.

11And then he opened the door so big,And the door so very wide;Said he to her three sons, Walk in!But told her to stay outside.

And then he opened the door so big,

And the door so very wide;

Said he to her three sons, Walk in!

But told her to stay outside.

12‘Go back, go back!’ sweet Jesus replied,‘Go back, go back!’ says he;‘For thou hast nine days to repentFor the wickedness that thou hast done.’

‘Go back, go back!’ sweet Jesus replied,

‘Go back, go back!’ says he;

‘For thou hast nine days to repent

For the wickedness that thou hast done.’

13Nine days then was past and gone,And nine days then was spent,Sweet Jesus called her once again,And took her to heaven with him.

Nine days then was past and gone,

And nine days then was spent,

Sweet Jesus called her once again,

And took her to heaven with him.

P. 240 a. ‘Sleep you, wake you.’ Add: ‘Young Beichan,’ No 53,B5; Duran, Romancero, I, 488, Nos 742, 743.

240 a, II, 513 a.

The very wicked knight Owen, after coming out of St Patrick’s Purgatory, lay in his orisons fifteen days and nights before the high altar,

“And suþþe in is bare flech þe holi crois he nom,And wende to þe holi lond, and holi mon bicom.”

“And suþþe in is bare flech þe holi crois he nom,

And wende to þe holi lond, and holi mon bicom.”

Horstmann, Altengl. Legenden, 1875, p. 174, vv. 611–612; also p. 208, v. 697, and p. 209, v. 658. In a mediæval traveller’s tale the Abyssinians are said to burn the cross in their children’s foreheads. “Vort wonent da andere snoide kirsten in deme lande ind die heischent Ysini; wan man yr kinder douft ind kirsten macht, dan broet der priester yn eyn cruce vor dat houft.” Ein niederrheinischer Bericht über den Orient, ed. Röhricht u. Meier, in Zacher’s Zeitschrift, XIX, 15. (G. L. K.)

P. 272.F.

Mr Macmath has found the edition of 1755, and has favored me with a copy. Substitute forF. a., p. 263: Gill Morice, An Ancient Scottish Poem. Second Edition. Glasgow, Printed and sold by Robert and Andrew Foulis, 1755. (Small 4º, 15 pages.) The copy mentioned p. 263 b, note, is a reprint of this or of the first edition; it has but two variations of reading. The deviations from the text of 1755 will be put in the list of things to be corrected in the print.

P. 276. In Miss Burne’s Shropshire Folk-Lore, 1883–86, p. 543, there is a copy, taken from singing, which I must suppose to be derived ultimately from print.

P. 279. The following version is printed by Mr G. R. Tomson in his Ballads of the North Countrie, 1888, p. 434, from a MS. of Mrs Rider Haggard.

GILES COLLINS AND LADY ANNICE1Giles Collins said to his own mother,‘Mother, come bind up my head,And send for the parson of our parish,For to-morrow I shall be dead.2‘And if that I be dead,As I verily believe I shall,O bury me not in our churchyard,But under Lady Annice’s wall.’3Lady Annice sat at her bower-window,Mending of her night-coif,When passing she saw as lovely a corpseAs ever she saw in her life.4‘Set down, set down, ye six tall men,Set down upon the plain,That I may kiss those clay-cold lipsI neer shall kiss again.5‘Set down, set down, ye six tall men,That I may look thereon;For to-morrow, before the cock it has crowd,Giles Collins and I shall be one.6‘What had you at Giles Collins’s burying?Very good ale and wine?You shall have the same to-morrow night,Much about the same time.’7Giles Collins died upon the eve,This fair lady on the morrow;Thus may you all now very well knowThis couple died for sorrow.

GILES COLLINS AND LADY ANNICE

1Giles Collins said to his own mother,‘Mother, come bind up my head,And send for the parson of our parish,For to-morrow I shall be dead.

Giles Collins said to his own mother,

‘Mother, come bind up my head,

And send for the parson of our parish,

For to-morrow I shall be dead.

2‘And if that I be dead,As I verily believe I shall,O bury me not in our churchyard,But under Lady Annice’s wall.’

‘And if that I be dead,

As I verily believe I shall,

O bury me not in our churchyard,

But under Lady Annice’s wall.’

3Lady Annice sat at her bower-window,Mending of her night-coif,When passing she saw as lovely a corpseAs ever she saw in her life.

Lady Annice sat at her bower-window,

Mending of her night-coif,

When passing she saw as lovely a corpse

As ever she saw in her life.

4‘Set down, set down, ye six tall men,Set down upon the plain,That I may kiss those clay-cold lipsI neer shall kiss again.

‘Set down, set down, ye six tall men,

Set down upon the plain,

That I may kiss those clay-cold lips

I neer shall kiss again.

5‘Set down, set down, ye six tall men,That I may look thereon;For to-morrow, before the cock it has crowd,Giles Collins and I shall be one.

‘Set down, set down, ye six tall men,

That I may look thereon;

For to-morrow, before the cock it has crowd,

Giles Collins and I shall be one.

6‘What had you at Giles Collins’s burying?Very good ale and wine?You shall have the same to-morrow night,Much about the same time.’

‘What had you at Giles Collins’s burying?

Very good ale and wine?

You shall have the same to-morrow night,

Much about the same time.’

7Giles Collins died upon the eve,This fair lady on the morrow;Thus may you all now very well knowThis couple died for sorrow.

Giles Collins died upon the eve,

This fair lady on the morrow;

Thus may you all now very well know

This couple died for sorrow.

Lt-Col. Prideaux has sent me this copy, from Fly-Leaves, London, John Miller, 1854, Second Series, p. 98.

GILES COLLINS1Lady Annis she sat in her bay-window,A-mending of her night-coif;As she sat, she saw the handsomest corpseThat ever she saw in her life.2‘Who bear ye there, ye four tall men?Who bear ye on your shouldyers?’‘It is the body of Giles Collins,An old true lovyer of yours.’3‘Set’n down, set’n down,’ Lady Annis she said,‘Set’n down on the grass so trim;Before the clock it strikes twelve this night,My body shall lie beside him.’4Lady Annis then fitted on her night-coif,Which fitted her wondrous well;She then pierced her throat with a sharp-edgd knife,As the four pall-bearers can tell.5Lady Annis was buried in the east church-yard,Giles Collins was laid in the west,And a lily grew out from Giles Collins’s graveWhich touched Lady Annis’s breast.6There blew a cold north-westerly wind,And cut this lily in twain;Which never there was seen before,And it never will again.

GILES COLLINS

1Lady Annis she sat in her bay-window,A-mending of her night-coif;As she sat, she saw the handsomest corpseThat ever she saw in her life.

Lady Annis she sat in her bay-window,

A-mending of her night-coif;

As she sat, she saw the handsomest corpse

That ever she saw in her life.

2‘Who bear ye there, ye four tall men?Who bear ye on your shouldyers?’‘It is the body of Giles Collins,An old true lovyer of yours.’

‘Who bear ye there, ye four tall men?

Who bear ye on your shouldyers?’

‘It is the body of Giles Collins,

An old true lovyer of yours.’

3‘Set’n down, set’n down,’ Lady Annis she said,‘Set’n down on the grass so trim;Before the clock it strikes twelve this night,My body shall lie beside him.’

‘Set’n down, set’n down,’ Lady Annis she said,

‘Set’n down on the grass so trim;

Before the clock it strikes twelve this night,

My body shall lie beside him.’

4Lady Annis then fitted on her night-coif,Which fitted her wondrous well;She then pierced her throat with a sharp-edgd knife,As the four pall-bearers can tell.

Lady Annis then fitted on her night-coif,

Which fitted her wondrous well;

She then pierced her throat with a sharp-edgd knife,

As the four pall-bearers can tell.

5Lady Annis was buried in the east church-yard,Giles Collins was laid in the west,And a lily grew out from Giles Collins’s graveWhich touched Lady Annis’s breast.

Lady Annis was buried in the east church-yard,

Giles Collins was laid in the west,

And a lily grew out from Giles Collins’s grave

Which touched Lady Annis’s breast.

6There blew a cold north-westerly wind,And cut this lily in twain;Which never there was seen before,And it never will again.

There blew a cold north-westerly wind,

And cut this lily in twain;

Which never there was seen before,

And it never will again.

P. 298 a. Add,‘Sönnens hævn,’ Kristensen, Skattegraveren, IV, 113, No 284; a fragment.

Pp. 303 b, 513 b. Marvellous growth, etc. Ormr Stórólfsson very early attained to a great size, and at seven was a match for the strongest men: Flateyjarbok, I, 521, Fornmanna Sögur, III, 205, cited by Bugge in Paul u. Braune’s Beiträge, XII, 58. Wolfdietrich gains one man’s strength every year, and amazes everybody in his infancy even. Wolfdietrich A, ed. Amelung, sts 31, 38–41, 45, 233, 234, pp. 84, 85, 86, 108. (Some striking resemblances to Robert le Diable.) Cf. also Wigalois, ed. Pfeiffer, 36, 2 f.,==Benecke, 1226 f.:

In einem jâre wuchs ez mêrdan ein anderz in zwein tuo.

In einem jâre wuchs ez mêr

dan ein anderz in zwein tuo.

Elias (afterwards the Knight of the Swan), who is to avenge his mother, astonishes by his rapid growth the old hermit who brings him up:

“A! Dieu! dist ly preudons, à qui est cest enfant?Il est sy jouènes d’âge et s’a le corps sy grant:S’il croist sy faitement, ce sera ung gaiant.”

“A! Dieu! dist ly preudons, à qui est cest enfant?

Il est sy jouènes d’âge et s’a le corps sy grant:

S’il croist sy faitement, ce sera ung gaiant.”

Chevalier au Cygne, ed. Reiffenberg, vv. 960–963, I, 45. “The little Malbrouk grew fast, and at seven years old he was as tall as a tall man.” Webster, basque Legends, 2d ed., p. 78; Vinson, Folk-Lore du Pays basque, p. 81. The Ynca Mayta Ccapac “a few months after his birth began to talk, and at ten years of age fought valiantly and defeated his enemies.” Markham, Narratives of the Rites and Laws of the Yncas, Hakluyt Society, p. 83. A Tête-Rasée infant in four days grows to the full size of man. Petitot, Traditions Indiennes du Canada Nord-Ouest, pp. 241–243. (G. L. K.)

P. 310.Danish.Another copy of ‘Malfreds Død,’ Kristensen’s Skattegraveren, VI, 195, No 804.

P. 320. The negroes of Dumfries, Prince William County, Virginia, have this ballad, orally transmitted from the original Scottish settlers of that region, with the stanza found inF(19) andT(15):

Mr Lammikin, Mr Lammikin,oh, spare me my life,And I’ll give you my daughter Betsy,and she shall be your wife.

Mr Lammikin, Mr Lammikin,

oh, spare me my life,

And I’ll give you my daughter Betsy,

and she shall be your wife.

“They sang it to a monotonous measure.” (Mrs Dulany.)

94. Young Waters.

P. 343. By the kindness of Mr Macmath, I have now a copy of the original edition.

Young Waters, an Ancient Scottish Poem, never before printed. Glasgow, Printed and sold by Robert and Andrew Foulis, 1755. (Small 4º, 8 pages.) The few differences of reading will be given with corrections to be made in the print.

P. 346. Mr Alfred Nutt has communicated to the Folk-Lore Journal, VI, 144, 1888, the outline of a ballad in which, as in some versions of the European continent, the man has the place of the maid. But this may be a modern turn to the story, arising from the disposition to mitigate a tragic tale. The ballad was obtained “from a relative of Dr Birbeck Hill’s, in whose family it is traditional. Mother, father, and brethren all refuse him aid, but his sweetheart is kinder, and buys him off.” For the burden seeC6, which, as well asB12, might better have been printed as such.

1‘Hold up, hold up your hands so high!Hold up your hands so high!For I think I see my own mother comingOer yonder stile to me.Oh the briars, the prickly briars,They prick my heart full sore;If ever I get free from the gallows-tree,I’[ll] never get there any more.2‘Oh mother hast thou any gold for me,Any money to buy me free,To save my body from the cold clay ground,And my head from the gallows-tree?’3‘Oh no, I have no gold for thee,No money to buy thee free,For I have come to see thee hanged,And hangëd thou shalt be.’

‘Hold up, hold up your hands so high!

Hold up your hands so high!

For I think I see my own mother coming

Oer yonder stile to me.

Oh the briars, the prickly briars,

They prick my heart full sore;

If ever I get free from the gallows-tree,

I’[ll] never get there any more.

2‘Oh mother hast thou any gold for me,Any money to buy me free,To save my body from the cold clay ground,And my head from the gallows-tree?’

‘Oh mother hast thou any gold for me,

Any money to buy me free,

To save my body from the cold clay ground,

And my head from the gallows-tree?’

3‘Oh no, I have no gold for thee,No money to buy thee free,For I have come to see thee hanged,And hangëd thou shalt be.’

‘Oh no, I have no gold for thee,

No money to buy thee free,

For I have come to see thee hanged,

And hangëd thou shalt be.’

Struppa’s text of ‘Scibilia Nobili’ is repeated in Salomone-Marino’s Leggende p. siciliane in Poesia, p. 160, No 29. The editor supplies defects and gives some varying readings from another version, in which Scibilia is the love, not the wife, of a cavalier.—Mango, Calabria, in Archivio, I, 394, No 75 (wife).—‘La Prigioniera,’ Giannini, No 25, p. 195, two copies, reduces the story to four or five stanzas. The sequel, No 26, p. 197, is likely to have been originally an independent ballad. It is attached to ‘Scibilia Nobili,’ but is found separately in Bernoni, XI, No 3, ‘La Figlia snaturata,’ Finamore, Archivio, I, 212, ‘Catarine.’

347 b. ‘Frísa vísa’ is reprinted byHammershaimb, Færøsk Anthologi, p. 268, No 34. The editor expressly says that the ballad is used as a children’s game, like the EnglishF. So also are DanishA, and a Magyar ballad of like purport, to be mentioned presently.

348 b.Danish.A, in Kristensen’s Skattegraveren, ‘Jomfruens udløsning,’ II, 49, No 279, 1884;B, III, 5, No 3, 1885. From tradition. Both versions agree with the Swedish in all important points, and the language ofBpoints to a Swedish derivation.

349 a. Ransom for maid refused by father, mother, brother, sister, and paid by lover: Little-Russian, Golovatsky, I, 50, No 11; II, 245, No 7. (W. W.)

349 b, 514 a. Man redeemed by maid when abandoned by his own blood: Little-Russian, Golovatsky, I, 250, No 26; Servian, Vuk, III, 547, No 83; Magyar-Croat, Kurelac, p. 254, No 61, p. 352, No 96. (W. W.)

In a Slovak ballad in Kollár, Národnie Zpiewanky, II, 13, translated by Herrmann, Ethnologische Mittheilungen, col. 42 f., John, in prison, writes to his father to ransom him; the father asks how much would have to be paid; four hundred pieces of gold and as many of silver; the father replies that hehas notso much, and his son must perish. An ineffectual letter to mother, brother, sister, follows; then one to his sweetheart. She brings a long rope, with which he is to let himself down from his dungeon. If the rope proves too short, he is to add his long hair (cf. I, 40 b, line 2, 486 b); and if it be still too short, he may light upon her shoulders. John escapes. Nearly the same is the Polish ballad translated in Waldbrühl’s Balalaika, which is referred to II, 350 b.

A fragment of a Székler ransom-ballad is found in Arany and Gyulai’s collection, III, 42: Herrmann, as above, col. 49. Another form of love-test is very popular in Hungary, of which Herrmann gives eight versions. In one of these, from a collection made in 1813, Arany and Gyulai, I, 189 (Herrmann’s IV), the story is told with the conciseness of the English ballad. A snake has crept into a girl’s bosom: she entreats her father to take it out; he dares not, and sends her to her mother; the mother has as little devotion and courage as the father, and sends her to her brother; she is successively passed on to sister-in-law, brother-in-law, sister; then appeals to her lover, who instantly does the service. This is the kernel, and perhaps all that is original, in versions, I (of Herrmann), col. 34 f., contributed by Kálmány; II, 36 f., contributed by Szabó; V, col. 38, Kálmány, Koszorúk az Alföld vad Virágaiból, I, 21, translated into German by Wlislocki, Ungarische Revue, 1884, p. 344; VIII, col. 39, Kálmány, Szeged Népe, II, 13. In Herrmann, VI, col. 38, Kálmány, Koszorúk, II, 62; VII, col. 38 f., Kálmány, Szeged Népe, II, 12; and III, col. 37 (a fragment), young man and maid change parts. In I, III, V (?), VI, VII, the father says he can better do without a daughter (son) than without one of his hands, and the youth (maid) would rather lose one of his (her) hands than his (her)beloved.[326]In I the snake has been turned to a purse of gold when the maid attempts to take it out; in II, according to a prose and prosaic comment of the reciter, there was no snake, but the girl had put a piece of gold in her bosom, and calls it a yellow adder to experiment upon her family; in VII, again, there is no snake, but a rouleau of gold, and the snake is explained away in like manner in a comment to VIII. Even the transformation in I is to be deprecated; the money in the others is a modern depravation.

A brief ballad of the Transylvania Gipsies, communicated and translated by Wlislocki, Ungarische Revue, 1884, p. 345 f., agrees with the second series of those above. A youth summons mother and sister to take a reptile from his breast; they are afraid; his sweetheart will do it if she dies. A very pretty popular Gipsy tale to the same effect is given by Herrmann, col. 40 f.

A Roumanian ballad, ‘Giurgiu,’ closely resembling the Magyar I, VII, from Pompiliu Miron’s Balade populare române, p. 41, is given in translation by Herrmann, col. 106 ff.; a fragment of another, with parts reversed, col. 213.

A man, to make trial of his blood-relations, begs father, mother, etc., to take out a snake from his breast, and is refused by all. His wife puts in her hand and takes out a pearl necklace, which she receives as her reward: Servian, Vuk, I, No 289, Herzegovine, No 136, Petranović, Serajevo, 1867, p. 191, No 20; Slavonian, Stojanović, No 20. (W. W.)

There are many variations on this theme, of which one more may be specified. A drowning girl given over by her family is saved by her lover: Little-Russian, Golovatsky, II, 80, No 14, 104, No 18, 161, No 15, 726, No 11; Servian, Vuk, I, Nos 290, 291; Bulgarian, Dozon, p. 98, No 61; Polish, Kolberg, Lud, 1857, I, 151, 12a. Again, man is saved by maid: Little-Russian, Golovatsky, I, 114, No 28; Waclaw z Oleska, p. 226. (W. W.)

P. 356 a. (1.) (2.) (4.) are now printed in Mélusine, II, 342, III, 1, II, 341. (15.) (16.) ‘La Fille dans la Tour,’ Victor Smith, Chansons du Velay et du Forez, Romania, VII, 76, 78. (17.) Bladé, Poésies p. rec. dans l’Armagnac, etc., p. 23, ‘La Prisonnière.’

There is an Italian form of ‘Belle Isambourg’ in Nigra, No 45, p. 277, ‘Amor costante.’

356 b. For other forms of ‘Les trois Capitaines,’ see, French, Puymaigre, I, 131, 134 and note; Tiersot, in Revue des Traditions populaires, III, 501, 502; Rolland, III, 58 ff.,a,b,d; Italian, Marcoaldi, p. 162, ‘La Fuga e il Pentimento;’ Nigra, No 53, p. 309, ‘L’Onore salvato.’

357 b, second paragraph.

On messenger-birds, see Nigra, p. 339 f., and note.

A girl feigns death simply to avoid a disagreeable suitor. Proof by fire, etc.; cf.C23 f.,D7 f.,E27 f.,F1–3,G36–38. Servian. (1.) Mara, promised to the Herzog Stephen, and wishing for good reasons to escape him, pretends death. Stephen is incredulous; puts live coals into her bosom, then a snake; she does not flinch. He then tickles her face with his beard; she does not stir. Stephen is convinced and retires; Mara springs from the bier. Her mother asks her what had given her most trouble. She had not minded the coals or the snake, but could hardly keep from laughing when tickled with the beard. Vuk, I, 551, No 727. (2.) The suitor tests the case by thrusting his hands into the girl’s bosom, fire, snake. The first is the worst. Vuk, Herzegovine, No 133. (3.) The same probation, with the same verdict (in this case the girl loves another), Petranović, Srpske n. pjesme, Serajevo, 1867, No 362. Cf. Rajković, p. 176, No 211.—Bulgarian. Proofs by snow and ice laid on the heart; a snake. She stands both. Miladinof, No 68, cf. No 468. In the same, No 660, the girl holds out under ice and snake, but when kissed between the eyes wakes up.—Bohemian, Erben, p. 485, No 20, ‘The Turk duped,’ and Moravian, Sušil, No 128, the tests are lacking. (W. W.)

Three physicians from Salerno pour melted lead in the hands of Fenice, who is apparently dead. (She has taken a drug which makes her unconscious for a certain time. Her object is to escape from her husband to her lover, Cligés.) The lead has no effect in rousing Fenice. Crestien de Troies, Cligés, ed. Förster, vv. 6000–6009, pp. 246, 247. Förster cites Solomon and Morolf (Salman und Morolf, st. 133, ed. F. Vogt, Die deutschen Dichtungen v. Salomon und Markolf, I, 27,molten gold), and other parallels. Einleitung, pp. xix-xx. Cf. Revue de Traditions pop., II, 519. (G. L. K.)

P. 398. There is a ‘Lord Thomas of Wynnesbury ’ in the Murison MS., p. 17, which was derived from recitation in Aberdeenshire, but it seems to me to have had its origin in the stalls, resemblingI, which is of that source.

Pp. 407, 409,A142,B122, ‘An lions gaed to their dens,’ ‘And the lions took the hill.’ “Lions we have had verie manie in the north parts of Scotland, and those with maines of no less force than they of Mauritania are sometimes reported to be; but how and when they were destroied as yet I doo not read:” Holinshed, I, 379.

102. Willie and Earl Richard’s Daughter.

P. 412 b.Ais translated by Anastasius Grün, Robin Hood, p. 57; Doenniges, p. 166; Knortz, L. u. R. Altenglands, No 18; Loève-Veimars, p. 252.

II, 426 b, 428. The tune of 105bis, I have a good old woman at home: off, I have a good old wife at home.

Italian.‘La Prova,’ Nigra, No 54, p. 314,A-D. ‘Il Ritorno,’ Giannini, p. 154.

P. 428. The Roxburghe copy, III, 762, Aldermary Church-Yard, is in the Ballad Society’s edition, VI, 567. The Euing copy, printed for John Andrews, is signed L. P., for Laurence Price: Mr J. W. Ebsworth, at p. 570.

P. 441 b.B. b.Ritson’s copy was “compared with another impression, for the same partners, without date.”

I have failed to mention, but am now reminded by Mr Macmath, that the ballad of ‘Jamie o Lee’ is given, under the title ‘James Hatelie,’ by Robert Chambers in the Romantic Scottish Ballads, their Epoch and Authorship, 1859, p. 37, Lord Phenix appearing as simple Fenwick.

P. 480 b. SpanishC, ‘El Caballero burlado,’ is now printed in full in Pidal, Asturian Romances, No 34, p. 156.

481 b. Add: ‘La Marchande d’Oranges’ in Rolland, V, 10. (Say Rolland, I, 258.)

Tears. Add: Rolland, II, 29,e, g, h.

Varieties. There may be added: Mélusine I, 483==Revue des Traditions pop., III, 634 f.; Romania, X, 379 f., No 18; Bladé, Poésies p. de la Gascogne, II, 208.

482 a.Italian.Nigra, No 71, p. 375, ‘Occasione mancata,’A-F. See also ‘La Monacella salvata,’ No 72, p. 381, and ‘Il Galante burlato,’ No 75, p. 388.

482 b. The ballad, it seems, is byMadameFavart: see Rolland, II, 33,k. Add:l,ib., p. 34, and Poésies pop. de la France, MS., III, 493.

483 b. DanishAis translated by Prior, III, 182, No 126.

P. 494.

“On the west coast of Ireland the fishermen are loth to kill the seals, which once abounded in some localities, owing to a popular superstition that they enshrined ‘the souls of thim that were drowned at the flood.’ They were supposed to possess the power of casting aside their external skins and disporting themselves in human form on the sea-shore. If a mortal contrived to become possessed of one of these outer coverings belonging to a female, he might claim her and keep her as his bride.” Charles Hardwick, Traditions, Superstitions, and Folk-Lore, chiefly Lancashire and the North of England, p. 231. (G. L. K.)

506 a, last paragraph but one. So in Douns Lioð, Strengleikar, ed. Kayser and Unger, p. 52 ff. (G. L. K.)

P. 17 b. I have omitted to mention the Norwegian ballad ‘Hemingjen aa Harald kungen’ in Bugge’s Gamle Norske Folkeviser, No 1, p. 1.

44. ‘A Robynhode,’ etc.

In the Convocation Books of the Corporation of Wells, Somerset, vol. ii, “under the 13th Henry 7, Nicholas Trappe being master, there is the following curious entry, relative, apparently, to a play of Robin Hood, exhibitions of dancing girls, and church ales, provided for at the public expense.

“‘Et insuper in eadem Convocatione omnes et singuli burgenses unanimi assensu ad tunc et ibidem dederunt Magistro Nicolao Trappe potestatem generalem ad inquirendum in quorum manibus pecuniæ ecclesiæ ac communitatis Welliæ sunt injuste detentæ; videlicet, provenientes ante hoc tempus de Robynhode, puellis tripudiantibus, communi cervisia ecclesiæ, et hujusmodi. Atque de bonis et pecuniis dictæ communitati qualitercunque detentis, et in quorumcunque manibus existentibus. Et desuper, eorum nomina scribere qui habent hujusmodi bona, cum summis, etc.’” H. T. Riley in the First Report of the Historical MSS Commission, 1874, Appendix, p. 107.

The passage in the Wells Convocation Records is perhaps illustrated by an entry in the Churchwardens’ Accounts of the Parish of Kingston-upon-Thames, cited by Ritson, Robin Hood, 2d ed., I, cxviii, from Lysons, Environs of London, 1792, I, 228:

“16 Hen. 8. Recdat the church-ale and Robynhode all things deducted

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