191HUGHIE GRAME

A.‘The Life and Death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.’a.Roxburghe Ballads, II, 294.b.Douce Ballads, II, 204 b.c.Rawlinson Ballads, 566, fol. 9.d.Pills to purge Melancholy, VI, 289, 17.e.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 344.

B.‘Hughie Graham,’ Johnson’s Museum, No 303, p. 312; Cromek, Reliques of Robert Burns, 4th ed., 1817, p. 287; Cromek, Select Scottish Songs, 1810, II, 151.

C.‘Hughie the Græme,’ Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1803, III, 85; 1833, III, 107.

D.‘Sir Hugh in the Grime’s Downfall,’ Roxburghe Ballads, III, 456, edited by J. F. Ebsworth for The Ballad Society, VI, 598.

E.‘Sir Hugh the Græme,’ Buchan’s MSS, I, 53; Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 73, Percy Society, vol. xvii.

F.Macmath MS., p. 79, two stanzas.

G.‘Hughie Grame,’ Harris MS., fol. 27 b, one stanza.

There is a copy of the broadside among the Pepys ballads, II, 148, No 130, printed, likea,b,c, for P. Brooksby, with the variation, “at the Golden Ball, near the Bear Tavern, in Pye Corner.” The ballad was given in Ritson’s Ancient Songs, 1790, p. 192, fromA a, collated with another copy “in the hands of John Baynes, Esq.” In a note, p. 332, Ritson says: “In the editor’s collection is a somewhat different ballad upon the same subject, intitled ‘Sir Hugh in the Grimes downfall, or a new song made on Sir Hugh in the Grime, who was hangd for stealing the Bishop’s mare.’ It begins, ‘Good Lord John is a hunting gone.’” This last was evidently the late and corrupt copyD. OfCScottsays: “The present edition was procured for me by my friend Mr W. Laidlaw, in Blackhouse, and has been long current in Selkirkshire. Mr Ritson’s copy has occasionally been resorted to for better readings.”Bis partially rewritten by Cunningham, Songs of Scotland, I, 327. The copy in R. H. Evans’s Old Ballads, 1810, I, 367, isA; that in The Ballads and Songs of Ayrshire, First Series, p. 47, is of courseB; Aytoun, ed. of 1859, II, 128, reprintsC; Maidment, 1868, II, 140,A, II, 145,C.[3]

“According to tradition,” says Stenhouse, “Robert Aldridge, Bishop of Carlisle, about the year 1560, seduced the wife of Hugh Graham, one of those bold and predatory chiefs who so long inhabited what was called the debateable land on the English and Scottish border. Graham, being unable to bring so powerful a prelate to justice, in revenge made an excursion into Cumberland, and carried off,inter alia, a fine mare belonging to the bishop; but being closely pursued by Sir John Scroope, warden of Carlisle, with a party on horseback, was apprehended near Solway Moss, and carried to Carlisle, where he was tried and convicted of felony. Great intercessions were made to save his life, but the bishop, it is said, being determined to remove the chief obstacle to his guilty passions, remained inexorable, and poor Graham fell a victim to his own indiscretion and his wife’s infidelity. Anthony Wood observes that there were many changes in this prelate’s time, both in church and state, but that he retained his office and preferments during them all.” Musical Museum, 1853, IV, 297.

The pretended tradition is plainly extracted from the ballad, the bishop’s name and the date being supplied from without. Theinter aliais introduced, and the mare qualified as a fine one, to mitigate the ridiculousness of making Hugh Graham steal a mare to retaliate the wrong done him by the bishop. As Allan Cunningham remarks, “tradition, in all the varieties of her legends, never invented such an unnecessary and superfluous reason as this. By habit and by nature thieves, the Græmes never waited for anything like a pretence to steal.” In passing, it may be observed that Hugh is quite arbitrarily elevated to the rank of a predatory chief.

Scott suggested in 1803, Minstrelsy, I, 86 f., that Hugh Graham may have been one of more than four hundred borderers against whom complaints were exhibited to the lord bishop of Carlisle for incursions, murders, burnings, mutilations, and spoils committed by the English of Cumberland and Westmoreland upon Scots “presently after the queen’s departure;” that is, after Mary Stuart’s going to France, which was in 1548. Nearly a third of the names given in a partial list are Grames, but there is no Hugh among them.[4]The bishop of Carlisle at the time was Robert Aldridge, who held the see from 1537 till his death in 1555.[5]Lord Scroope (Screw) is the English warden of the West Marches inA,C,D. A Lord Scroope had that office in 1542, but Lord Wharton, Lord Dacre, and others during the last years of Bishop Aldridge’s life, say from 1548 to 1555. Henry Lord Scroope of Bolton was appointed to the place in 1563, retained it thirty years, and was succeeded by his son, Thomas.[6]Considering how long the Scroopes held the warden-ship, and that the ballad is not so old as the middle of the sixteenth century, the fact thata Lord Scroope was not warden in the precise year when the complaints were addressed to the bishop of Carlisle would be of no consequence if Scott’s conjecture were well supported.

The story is the same inA-D, and inEalso till we near the end, though there are variations in the names. The scene is at Carlisle inA,C,D; at Stirling inB,E. Lord Home, who appears as intercessor for Hugh Graham inC, exercises the authority of the Scottish warden and arrests Hugh inE. Lord Home was warden of theeastmarches of Scotland from 1550, and I know not how much earlier, to 1564. The Lord Boles ofAmay possibly represent Sir Robert Bowes, who was warden of theeastmarches of England in 1550 and earlier. The Whitefoords ofBare adopted into the ballad from the region in which that version circulated, they being “an ancient family in Renfrewshire and Lanarkshire, and latterly in Ayrshire.”[7]

The high jump which Hugh makes inA18,C12,D4 (fourteen, or even eighteen, feet, with his hands tied on his back), is presumably an effort at escape, though, for all that is said, it might be a leap in the air. InE16–19, the prisoner jumps an eighteen-foot wall (tied as before), is defended by four brothers against ten pursuers, and sent over sea: which is certainly a modern perversion.

Ais strangely corrupted in several places, 22, 114, 132. Screw is plainly for Scroope. Garlard, sometimes printed Garland, is an obscuration of Cárlisle. The extravagance in 163, it is to be hoped, is a corruption also. Stanzas 3, 8 ofBare obviously, as Cromek says, the work of Burns, and the same is true of 103–4. But Burns has left some nonsense in 11, 12: ‘my sword that’s bent in the middle clear,’ ‘my sword that’s bent in the middle brown.’ We have more of this meaningless phraseology inE10, 11, 12, where swords are pointed ‘wi the metal clear,’ ‘brown,’ ‘fine.’ Stanza 15 ofEis borrowed from ‘Johnie Armstrong.’

a.Roxburghe Ballads, II, 294.b.Douce Ballads, II, 204 b.c.Rawlinson Ballads, 566, fol. 9. All printed for P. Brooksby: 1672–95(?).d.Pills to purge Melancholy, VI, 289, 17.e.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 344.

1As it befell upon one time,About mid-summer of the year,Every man was taxt of his crime,For stealing the good Lord Bishop’s mare.2The good Lord Screw he sadled a horse,And rid after this same scrime;Before he did get over the moss,There was he aware of Sir Hugh of the Grime.3‘Turn, O turn, thou false traytor,Turn, and yield thyself unto me;Thou hast stolen the Lord Bishops mare,And now thou thinkest away to flee.’4‘No, soft, Lord Screw, that may not be!Here is a broad sword by my side,And if that thou canst conquer me,The victory will soon be try’d.’5‘I ner was afraid of a traytor bold,Although thy name be Hugh in the Grime;I’le make thee repent thy speeches foul,If day and life but give me time.’6‘Then do thy worst, good Lord Screw,And deal your blows as fast as you can;It will be try’d between me and youWhich of us two shall be the best man.’7Thus as they dealt their blows so free,And both so bloody at that time,Over the moss ten yeomen they see,Come for to take Sir Hugh in the Grime.8Sir Hugh set his back against a tree,And then the men encompast him round;His mickle sword from his hand did flee,And then they brought Sir Hugh to the ground.9Sir Hugh of the Grime now taken isAnd brought back to Garlard town;[Then cry’d] the good wives all in Garlard town,‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st ner gang down.’10The good Lord Bishop is come to the town,And on the bench is set so high;And every man was taxt to his crime,At length he called Sir Hugh in the Grime.11‘Here am I, thou false bishop,Thy humours all to fulfill;I do not think my fact so greatBut thou mayst put it into thy own will.’12The quest of jury-men was calld,The best that was in Garlard town;Eleven of them spoke all in a breast,‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st ner gang down.’13Then another questry-men was calld,The best that was in Rumary;Twelve of them spoke all in a breast,‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st now guilty.’14Then came down my good Lord Boles,Falling down upon his knee:‘Five hundred pieces of gold would I give,To grant Sir Hugh in the Grime to me.’15‘Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles,And of your speeches set them by!If there be eleven Grimes all of a name,Then by my own honour they all should dye.’16Then came down my good Lady Ward,Falling low upon her knee:‘Five hundred measures of gold I’le give,To grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me.’17‘Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward,None of your proffers shall him buy!For if there be twelve Grimes all of a name,By my own honour they all should dye.’18Sir Hugh, of the Grime’s condemnd to dye,And of his friends he had no lack;Fourteen foot he leapt in his ward,His hands bound fast upon his back.19Then he lookt over his left shoulder,To see whom he could see or spy;Then was he aware of his father dear,Came tearing his hair most pittifully.20‘Peace, peace, my father dear,And of your speeches set them by!Though they have bereavd me of my life,They cannot bereave me of heaven so high.’21He lookt over his right shoulder,To see whom he could see or spye;There was he aware of his mother dear,Came tearing her hair most pittifully.22‘Pray have me remembred to Peggy, my wife;As she and I walkt over the moor,She was the cause of [the loss of] my life,And with the old bishop she plaid the whore.23‘Here, Johnny Armstrong, take thou my sword,That is made of the mettle so fine,And when thou comst to the border-side,Remember the death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.’

1As it befell upon one time,About mid-summer of the year,Every man was taxt of his crime,For stealing the good Lord Bishop’s mare.

As it befell upon one time,

About mid-summer of the year,

Every man was taxt of his crime,

For stealing the good Lord Bishop’s mare.

2The good Lord Screw he sadled a horse,And rid after this same scrime;Before he did get over the moss,There was he aware of Sir Hugh of the Grime.

The good Lord Screw he sadled a horse,

And rid after this same scrime;

Before he did get over the moss,

There was he aware of Sir Hugh of the Grime.

3‘Turn, O turn, thou false traytor,Turn, and yield thyself unto me;Thou hast stolen the Lord Bishops mare,And now thou thinkest away to flee.’

‘Turn, O turn, thou false traytor,

Turn, and yield thyself unto me;

Thou hast stolen the Lord Bishops mare,

And now thou thinkest away to flee.’

4‘No, soft, Lord Screw, that may not be!Here is a broad sword by my side,And if that thou canst conquer me,The victory will soon be try’d.’

‘No, soft, Lord Screw, that may not be!

Here is a broad sword by my side,

And if that thou canst conquer me,

The victory will soon be try’d.’

5‘I ner was afraid of a traytor bold,Although thy name be Hugh in the Grime;I’le make thee repent thy speeches foul,If day and life but give me time.’

‘I ner was afraid of a traytor bold,

Although thy name be Hugh in the Grime;

I’le make thee repent thy speeches foul,

If day and life but give me time.’

6‘Then do thy worst, good Lord Screw,And deal your blows as fast as you can;It will be try’d between me and youWhich of us two shall be the best man.’

‘Then do thy worst, good Lord Screw,

And deal your blows as fast as you can;

It will be try’d between me and you

Which of us two shall be the best man.’

7Thus as they dealt their blows so free,And both so bloody at that time,Over the moss ten yeomen they see,Come for to take Sir Hugh in the Grime.

Thus as they dealt their blows so free,

And both so bloody at that time,

Over the moss ten yeomen they see,

Come for to take Sir Hugh in the Grime.

8Sir Hugh set his back against a tree,And then the men encompast him round;His mickle sword from his hand did flee,And then they brought Sir Hugh to the ground.

Sir Hugh set his back against a tree,

And then the men encompast him round;

His mickle sword from his hand did flee,

And then they brought Sir Hugh to the ground.

9Sir Hugh of the Grime now taken isAnd brought back to Garlard town;[Then cry’d] the good wives all in Garlard town,‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st ner gang down.’

Sir Hugh of the Grime now taken is

And brought back to Garlard town;

[Then cry’d] the good wives all in Garlard town,

‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st ner gang down.’

10The good Lord Bishop is come to the town,And on the bench is set so high;And every man was taxt to his crime,At length he called Sir Hugh in the Grime.

The good Lord Bishop is come to the town,

And on the bench is set so high;

And every man was taxt to his crime,

At length he called Sir Hugh in the Grime.

11‘Here am I, thou false bishop,Thy humours all to fulfill;I do not think my fact so greatBut thou mayst put it into thy own will.’

‘Here am I, thou false bishop,

Thy humours all to fulfill;

I do not think my fact so great

But thou mayst put it into thy own will.’

12The quest of jury-men was calld,The best that was in Garlard town;Eleven of them spoke all in a breast,‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st ner gang down.’

The quest of jury-men was calld,

The best that was in Garlard town;

Eleven of them spoke all in a breast,

‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st ner gang down.’

13Then another questry-men was calld,The best that was in Rumary;Twelve of them spoke all in a breast,‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st now guilty.’

Then another questry-men was calld,

The best that was in Rumary;

Twelve of them spoke all in a breast,

‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st now guilty.’

14Then came down my good Lord Boles,Falling down upon his knee:‘Five hundred pieces of gold would I give,To grant Sir Hugh in the Grime to me.’

Then came down my good Lord Boles,

Falling down upon his knee:

‘Five hundred pieces of gold would I give,

To grant Sir Hugh in the Grime to me.’

15‘Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles,And of your speeches set them by!If there be eleven Grimes all of a name,Then by my own honour they all should dye.’

‘Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles,

And of your speeches set them by!

If there be eleven Grimes all of a name,

Then by my own honour they all should dye.’

16Then came down my good Lady Ward,Falling low upon her knee:‘Five hundred measures of gold I’le give,To grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me.’

Then came down my good Lady Ward,

Falling low upon her knee:

‘Five hundred measures of gold I’le give,

To grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me.’

17‘Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward,None of your proffers shall him buy!For if there be twelve Grimes all of a name,By my own honour they all should dye.’

‘Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward,

None of your proffers shall him buy!

For if there be twelve Grimes all of a name,

By my own honour they all should dye.’

18Sir Hugh, of the Grime’s condemnd to dye,And of his friends he had no lack;Fourteen foot he leapt in his ward,His hands bound fast upon his back.

Sir Hugh, of the Grime’s condemnd to dye,

And of his friends he had no lack;

Fourteen foot he leapt in his ward,

His hands bound fast upon his back.

19Then he lookt over his left shoulder,To see whom he could see or spy;Then was he aware of his father dear,Came tearing his hair most pittifully.

Then he lookt over his left shoulder,

To see whom he could see or spy;

Then was he aware of his father dear,

Came tearing his hair most pittifully.

20‘Peace, peace, my father dear,And of your speeches set them by!Though they have bereavd me of my life,They cannot bereave me of heaven so high.’

‘Peace, peace, my father dear,

And of your speeches set them by!

Though they have bereavd me of my life,

They cannot bereave me of heaven so high.’

21He lookt over his right shoulder,To see whom he could see or spye;There was he aware of his mother dear,Came tearing her hair most pittifully.

He lookt over his right shoulder,

To see whom he could see or spye;

There was he aware of his mother dear,

Came tearing her hair most pittifully.

22‘Pray have me remembred to Peggy, my wife;As she and I walkt over the moor,She was the cause of [the loss of] my life,And with the old bishop she plaid the whore.

‘Pray have me remembred to Peggy, my wife;

As she and I walkt over the moor,

She was the cause of [the loss of] my life,

And with the old bishop she plaid the whore.

23‘Here, Johnny Armstrong, take thou my sword,That is made of the mettle so fine,And when thou comst to the border-side,Remember the death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.’

‘Here, Johnny Armstrong, take thou my sword,

That is made of the mettle so fine,

And when thou comst to the border-side,

Remember the death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.’

Johnson’s Museum, No 303, p. 312, contributed by Burns; Cromek, Reliques of Robert Burns, 4th ed., 1817, p. 287; Cromek, Select Scottish Songs, etc., 1810, II, 151. From oral tradition in Ayrshire.

1Our lords are to the mountains gane,A hunting o the fallow deer,And they hae gripet Hughie Graham,For stealing o the bishop’s mare.2And they hae tied him hand and foot,And led him up thro Stirling town;The lads and lasses met him there,Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun!3‘O lowse my right hand free,’ he says,‘And put my braid sword in the same,He’s no in Stirling town this dayDaur tell the tale to Hughie Graham.’4Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord,As he sat by the bishop’s knee:‘Five hundred white stots I’ll gie yon,If ye’ll let Hughie Graham gae free.’5‘O haud your tongue,’ the bishop says,‘And wi your pleading let me be!For tho ten Grahams were in his coat,Hughie Graham this day shall die.’6Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord,As she sat by the bishop’s knee:‘Five hundred white pence I’ll gee you,If ye’ll gie Hughie Graham to me.’7‘O haud your tongue now, lady fair,And wi your pleading let it be!Altho ten Grahams were in his coat,It’s for my honour he maun die.’8They’ve taen him to the gallows-knowe,He looked to the gallows-tree,Yet never colour left his cheek,Nor ever did he blink his ee.9At length he looked round about,To see whatever he could spy,And there he saw his auld father,And he was weeping bitterly.10‘O haud your tongue, my father dear,And wi your weeping let it be!Thy weeping’s sairer on my heartThan a’ that they can do to me.11‘And ye may gie my brother JohnMy sword that’s bent in the middle clear,And let him come at twelve o’clock,And see me pay the bishop’s mare.12‘And ye may gie my brother JamesMy sword that’s bent in the middle brown,And bid him come at four o’clock,And see his brother Hugh cut down.13‘Remember me to Maggy my wife,The niest time ye gang oer the moor;Tell her, she staw the bishop’s mare,Tell her, she was the bishop’s whore.14‘And ye may tell my kith and kinI never did disgrace their blood,And when they meet the bishop’s cloak,To mak it shorter by the hood.’

1Our lords are to the mountains gane,A hunting o the fallow deer,And they hae gripet Hughie Graham,For stealing o the bishop’s mare.

Our lords are to the mountains gane,

A hunting o the fallow deer,

And they hae gripet Hughie Graham,

For stealing o the bishop’s mare.

2And they hae tied him hand and foot,And led him up thro Stirling town;The lads and lasses met him there,Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun!

And they hae tied him hand and foot,

And led him up thro Stirling town;

The lads and lasses met him there,

Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun!

3‘O lowse my right hand free,’ he says,‘And put my braid sword in the same,He’s no in Stirling town this dayDaur tell the tale to Hughie Graham.’

‘O lowse my right hand free,’ he says,

‘And put my braid sword in the same,

He’s no in Stirling town this day

Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham.’

4Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord,As he sat by the bishop’s knee:‘Five hundred white stots I’ll gie yon,If ye’ll let Hughie Graham gae free.’

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord,

As he sat by the bishop’s knee:

‘Five hundred white stots I’ll gie yon,

If ye’ll let Hughie Graham gae free.’

5‘O haud your tongue,’ the bishop says,‘And wi your pleading let me be!For tho ten Grahams were in his coat,Hughie Graham this day shall die.’

‘O haud your tongue,’ the bishop says,

‘And wi your pleading let me be!

For tho ten Grahams were in his coat,

Hughie Graham this day shall die.’

6Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord,As she sat by the bishop’s knee:‘Five hundred white pence I’ll gee you,If ye’ll gie Hughie Graham to me.’

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord,

As she sat by the bishop’s knee:

‘Five hundred white pence I’ll gee you,

If ye’ll gie Hughie Graham to me.’

7‘O haud your tongue now, lady fair,And wi your pleading let it be!Altho ten Grahams were in his coat,It’s for my honour he maun die.’

‘O haud your tongue now, lady fair,

And wi your pleading let it be!

Altho ten Grahams were in his coat,

It’s for my honour he maun die.’

8They’ve taen him to the gallows-knowe,He looked to the gallows-tree,Yet never colour left his cheek,Nor ever did he blink his ee.

They’ve taen him to the gallows-knowe,

He looked to the gallows-tree,

Yet never colour left his cheek,

Nor ever did he blink his ee.

9At length he looked round about,To see whatever he could spy,And there he saw his auld father,And he was weeping bitterly.

At length he looked round about,

To see whatever he could spy,

And there he saw his auld father,

And he was weeping bitterly.

10‘O haud your tongue, my father dear,And wi your weeping let it be!Thy weeping’s sairer on my heartThan a’ that they can do to me.

‘O haud your tongue, my father dear,

And wi your weeping let it be!

Thy weeping’s sairer on my heart

Than a’ that they can do to me.

11‘And ye may gie my brother JohnMy sword that’s bent in the middle clear,And let him come at twelve o’clock,And see me pay the bishop’s mare.

‘And ye may gie my brother John

My sword that’s bent in the middle clear,

And let him come at twelve o’clock,

And see me pay the bishop’s mare.

12‘And ye may gie my brother JamesMy sword that’s bent in the middle brown,And bid him come at four o’clock,And see his brother Hugh cut down.

‘And ye may gie my brother James

My sword that’s bent in the middle brown,

And bid him come at four o’clock,

And see his brother Hugh cut down.

13‘Remember me to Maggy my wife,The niest time ye gang oer the moor;Tell her, she staw the bishop’s mare,Tell her, she was the bishop’s whore.

‘Remember me to Maggy my wife,

The niest time ye gang oer the moor;

Tell her, she staw the bishop’s mare,

Tell her, she was the bishop’s whore.

14‘And ye may tell my kith and kinI never did disgrace their blood,And when they meet the bishop’s cloak,To mak it shorter by the hood.’

‘And ye may tell my kith and kin

I never did disgrace their blood,

And when they meet the bishop’s cloak,

To mak it shorter by the hood.’

Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1803, III, 85, 1833, III, 107, procured by W. Laidlaw in Blackhouse, and long current in Selkirkshire; with readings from Ritson’s copy.

1Gude Lord Scroope’s to the hunting gane,He has ridden oer moss and muir,And he has grippet Hughie the Græme,For stealing o the bishop’s mare.2‘Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!Here hangs a broad sword by my side,And if that thou canst conquer me,The matter it may soon be tryed.’3‘I neer was afraid of a traitor thief;Although thy name be Hughie the Græme,I’ll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,If God but grant me life and time.’4‘Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope,And deal your blows as hard as you can;It shall be tried, within an hour,Which of us two is the better man.’5But as they were dealing their blows so free,And both so bloody at the time,Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,All for to take brave Hughie the Græme.6Then they hae grippit Hughie the Græme,And brought him up through Carlisle town;The lasses and lads stood on the walls,Crying, Hughie the Græme, thou’se neer gae down!7Then they hae chosen a jury of men,The best that were in Carlisle town,And twelve of them cried out at once,Hughie the Græme, thou must gae down!8Then up bespak him gude Lord Hume,As he sat by the judge’s knee:‘Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,If you’ll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’9‘O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume,Forsooth and sae it mauna be;For were there but three Græmes of the name,They suld be hanged a’ for me.’10’Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,As she sat by the judge’s knee:‘A peck of white pennies, my good lord judge,If you’ll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’11‘O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume,Forsooth and so it mustna be;Were he but the one Græme of the name,He suld be hanged high for me.’12‘If I be guilty,’ said Hughie the Græme,‘Of me my friends shall hae small talk;’And he has loupd fifteen feet and three,Though his hands they were tied behind his back.13He looked over his left shoulder,And for to see what he might see;There was he aware of his auld father,Came tearing his hair most piteouslie.14‘O hald your tongue, my father,’ he says,‘And see that ye dinna weep for me!For they may ravish me o my life,But they canna banish me fro heaven hie.15‘Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife!The last time we came ower the muir’Twas thou bereft me of my life,And wi the bishop thou playd the whore.16‘Here, Johnnie Armstrang, take thou my sword,That is made o the metal sae fine,And when thou comest to the English sideRemember the death of Hughie the Græme.’

1Gude Lord Scroope’s to the hunting gane,He has ridden oer moss and muir,And he has grippet Hughie the Græme,For stealing o the bishop’s mare.

Gude Lord Scroope’s to the hunting gane,

He has ridden oer moss and muir,

And he has grippet Hughie the Græme,

For stealing o the bishop’s mare.

2‘Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!Here hangs a broad sword by my side,And if that thou canst conquer me,The matter it may soon be tryed.’

‘Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!

Here hangs a broad sword by my side,

And if that thou canst conquer me,

The matter it may soon be tryed.’

3‘I neer was afraid of a traitor thief;Although thy name be Hughie the Græme,I’ll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,If God but grant me life and time.’

‘I neer was afraid of a traitor thief;

Although thy name be Hughie the Græme,

I’ll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,

If God but grant me life and time.’

4‘Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope,And deal your blows as hard as you can;It shall be tried, within an hour,Which of us two is the better man.’

‘Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope,

And deal your blows as hard as you can;

It shall be tried, within an hour,

Which of us two is the better man.’

5But as they were dealing their blows so free,And both so bloody at the time,Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,All for to take brave Hughie the Græme.

But as they were dealing their blows so free,

And both so bloody at the time,

Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,

All for to take brave Hughie the Græme.

6Then they hae grippit Hughie the Græme,And brought him up through Carlisle town;The lasses and lads stood on the walls,Crying, Hughie the Græme, thou’se neer gae down!

Then they hae grippit Hughie the Græme,

And brought him up through Carlisle town;

The lasses and lads stood on the walls,

Crying, Hughie the Græme, thou’se neer gae down!

7Then they hae chosen a jury of men,The best that were in Carlisle town,And twelve of them cried out at once,Hughie the Græme, thou must gae down!

Then they hae chosen a jury of men,

The best that were in Carlisle town,

And twelve of them cried out at once,

Hughie the Græme, thou must gae down!

8Then up bespak him gude Lord Hume,As he sat by the judge’s knee:‘Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,If you’ll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’

Then up bespak him gude Lord Hume,

As he sat by the judge’s knee:

‘Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,

If you’ll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’

9‘O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume,Forsooth and sae it mauna be;For were there but three Græmes of the name,They suld be hanged a’ for me.’

‘O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume,

Forsooth and sae it mauna be;

For were there but three Græmes of the name,

They suld be hanged a’ for me.’

10’Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,As she sat by the judge’s knee:‘A peck of white pennies, my good lord judge,If you’ll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’

’Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,

As she sat by the judge’s knee:

‘A peck of white pennies, my good lord judge,

If you’ll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’

11‘O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume,Forsooth and so it mustna be;Were he but the one Græme of the name,He suld be hanged high for me.’

‘O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume,

Forsooth and so it mustna be;

Were he but the one Græme of the name,

He suld be hanged high for me.’

12‘If I be guilty,’ said Hughie the Græme,‘Of me my friends shall hae small talk;’And he has loupd fifteen feet and three,Though his hands they were tied behind his back.

‘If I be guilty,’ said Hughie the Græme,

‘Of me my friends shall hae small talk;’

And he has loupd fifteen feet and three,

Though his hands they were tied behind his back.

13He looked over his left shoulder,And for to see what he might see;There was he aware of his auld father,Came tearing his hair most piteouslie.

He looked over his left shoulder,

And for to see what he might see;

There was he aware of his auld father,

Came tearing his hair most piteouslie.

14‘O hald your tongue, my father,’ he says,‘And see that ye dinna weep for me!For they may ravish me o my life,But they canna banish me fro heaven hie.

‘O hald your tongue, my father,’ he says,

‘And see that ye dinna weep for me!

For they may ravish me o my life,

But they canna banish me fro heaven hie.

15‘Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife!The last time we came ower the muir’Twas thou bereft me of my life,And wi the bishop thou playd the whore.

‘Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife!

The last time we came ower the muir

’Twas thou bereft me of my life,

And wi the bishop thou playd the whore.

16‘Here, Johnnie Armstrang, take thou my sword,That is made o the metal sae fine,And when thou comest to the English sideRemember the death of Hughie the Græme.’

‘Here, Johnnie Armstrang, take thou my sword,

That is made o the metal sae fine,

And when thou comest to the English side

Remember the death of Hughie the Græme.’

Roxburghe Ballads, III, 456; edited for the Ballad Society by J. W. Ebsworth, VI, 598.

1Good Lord John is a hunting gone,Over the hills and dales so far,For to take Sir Hugh in the Grime,For stealing of the bishop’s mare.He derry derry down2Hugh in the Grime was taken thenAnd carried to Carlisle town;The merry women came out amain,Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!3O then a jury of women was brought,Of the best that could be found;Eleven of them spoke all at once,Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!4And then a jury of men was brought,More the pity for to be!Eleven of them spoke all at once,Saying, Hugh in the Grime, you are guilty.5Hugh in the Grime was cast to be hangd,Many of his friends did for him lack;For fifteen foot in the prisin he did jump,With his hands tyed fast behind his back.6Then bespoke our good Lady Ward,As she set on the bench so high:‘A peck of white pennys I’ll give to my lord,If he’ll grant Hugh Grime to me.7‘And if it be not full enough,I’ll stroke it up with my silver fan;And if it be not full enough,I’ll heap it up with my own hand.’8‘Hold your tongue now, Lady Ward,And of your talkitive let it be!There is never a Grime came in this courtThat at thy bidding shall saved be.’9Then bespoke our good Lady Moor,As she sat on the bench so high:‘A yoke of fat oxen I’ll give to my lord,If he’ll grant Hugh Grime to me.’10‘Hold your tongue now, good Lady Moor,And of your talkitive let it be!There is never a Grime came to this courtThat at thy bidding shall saved be.’11Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out of the door,With his hand out of the bar;There he spy’d his father dear,Tearing of his golden hair.12‘Hold your tongue, good father dear,And of your weeping let it be!For if they bereave me of my life,They cannot bereave me of the heavens so high.’13Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out at the door,Oh, what a sorry heart had he!There [he] spy’d his mother dear,Weeping and wailing ‘Oh, woe is me!’14‘Hold your tongue now, mother dear,And of your weeping let it be!For if they bereave me of my life,They cannot bereave me of heaven’s fee.15‘I’ll leave my sword to Johnny ArmstrongThat is made of mettal so fine,That when he comes to the border-sideHe may think of Hugh in the Grime.’

1Good Lord John is a hunting gone,Over the hills and dales so far,For to take Sir Hugh in the Grime,For stealing of the bishop’s mare.He derry derry down

Good Lord John is a hunting gone,

Over the hills and dales so far,

For to take Sir Hugh in the Grime,

For stealing of the bishop’s mare.

He derry derry down

2Hugh in the Grime was taken thenAnd carried to Carlisle town;The merry women came out amain,Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!

Hugh in the Grime was taken then

And carried to Carlisle town;

The merry women came out amain,

Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!

3O then a jury of women was brought,Of the best that could be found;Eleven of them spoke all at once,Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!

O then a jury of women was brought,

Of the best that could be found;

Eleven of them spoke all at once,

Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!

4And then a jury of men was brought,More the pity for to be!Eleven of them spoke all at once,Saying, Hugh in the Grime, you are guilty.

And then a jury of men was brought,

More the pity for to be!

Eleven of them spoke all at once,

Saying, Hugh in the Grime, you are guilty.

5Hugh in the Grime was cast to be hangd,Many of his friends did for him lack;For fifteen foot in the prisin he did jump,With his hands tyed fast behind his back.

Hugh in the Grime was cast to be hangd,

Many of his friends did for him lack;

For fifteen foot in the prisin he did jump,

With his hands tyed fast behind his back.

6Then bespoke our good Lady Ward,As she set on the bench so high:‘A peck of white pennys I’ll give to my lord,If he’ll grant Hugh Grime to me.

Then bespoke our good Lady Ward,

As she set on the bench so high:

‘A peck of white pennys I’ll give to my lord,

If he’ll grant Hugh Grime to me.

7‘And if it be not full enough,I’ll stroke it up with my silver fan;And if it be not full enough,I’ll heap it up with my own hand.’

‘And if it be not full enough,

I’ll stroke it up with my silver fan;

And if it be not full enough,

I’ll heap it up with my own hand.’

8‘Hold your tongue now, Lady Ward,And of your talkitive let it be!There is never a Grime came in this courtThat at thy bidding shall saved be.’

‘Hold your tongue now, Lady Ward,

And of your talkitive let it be!

There is never a Grime came in this court

That at thy bidding shall saved be.’

9Then bespoke our good Lady Moor,As she sat on the bench so high:‘A yoke of fat oxen I’ll give to my lord,If he’ll grant Hugh Grime to me.’

Then bespoke our good Lady Moor,

As she sat on the bench so high:

‘A yoke of fat oxen I’ll give to my lord,

If he’ll grant Hugh Grime to me.’

10‘Hold your tongue now, good Lady Moor,And of your talkitive let it be!There is never a Grime came to this courtThat at thy bidding shall saved be.’

‘Hold your tongue now, good Lady Moor,

And of your talkitive let it be!

There is never a Grime came to this court

That at thy bidding shall saved be.’

11Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out of the door,With his hand out of the bar;There he spy’d his father dear,Tearing of his golden hair.

Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out of the door,

With his hand out of the bar;

There he spy’d his father dear,

Tearing of his golden hair.

12‘Hold your tongue, good father dear,And of your weeping let it be!For if they bereave me of my life,They cannot bereave me of the heavens so high.’

‘Hold your tongue, good father dear,

And of your weeping let it be!

For if they bereave me of my life,

They cannot bereave me of the heavens so high.’

13Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out at the door,Oh, what a sorry heart had he!There [he] spy’d his mother dear,Weeping and wailing ‘Oh, woe is me!’

Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out at the door,

Oh, what a sorry heart had he!

There [he] spy’d his mother dear,

Weeping and wailing ‘Oh, woe is me!’

14‘Hold your tongue now, mother dear,And of your weeping let it be!For if they bereave me of my life,They cannot bereave me of heaven’s fee.

‘Hold your tongue now, mother dear,

And of your weeping let it be!

For if they bereave me of my life,

They cannot bereave me of heaven’s fee.

15‘I’ll leave my sword to Johnny ArmstrongThat is made of mettal so fine,That when he comes to the border-sideHe may think of Hugh in the Grime.’

‘I’ll leave my sword to Johnny Armstrong

That is made of mettal so fine,

That when he comes to the border-side

He may think of Hugh in the Grime.’

Buchan’s MSS, I, 53.

1Lord Home he is a hunting gane,Through the woods and valleys clear,And he has taen Sir Hugh the Græme,For stealing o the bishop’s mare.2They hae taen Sir Hugh the Græme,Led him down thro Strieveling town;Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance,‘Sir Hugh the Græme he must go down!’3They hae causd a court to sit,Mang a’ their best nobilitie;Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance,‘Sir Hugh the Græme he now must die!’4Out it speaks the lady Black,And o her will she was right free:‘A thousand pounds, my lord, I’ll gie,If Hugh the Græme set free to me.’5‘Hold your tongue, ye Lady Black,And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be!Though ye woud gie me thousands ten,It’s for my honour he must die.’6Then out it speaks her Lady Bruce,And o her will she was right free:‘A hundred steeds, my lord, I’ll gie,If ye’ll gie Hugh the Græme to me.’7‘O hold your tongue, ye Lady Bruce,And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be!Though a’ the Græmes were in this court,It’s for my honour he must die.’8He looked over his shoulder,It was to see what he coud see,And there he saw his auld father,Weeping and wailing bitterlie.9‘O hold your tongue, my old father,And ye’ll let a’ your mourning be!Though they bereave me o my life,They canno had the heavens frae me.10‘Ye’ll gie my brother John the swordThat’s pointed wi the metal clear,And bid him come at eight o’clock,And see me pay the bishop’s mare.11‘And, brother James, take here the swordThat’s pointed wi the metal brown;Come up the morn at eight o’clock,And see your brother putten down.12‘And, brother Allan, take this swordThat’s pointed wi the metal fine;Come up the morn at eight o’clock,And see the death o Hugh the Græme.13‘Ye’ll tell this news to Maggy my wife,Niest time ye gang to Strievling town,She is the cause I lose my life,She wi the bishop playd the loon.’14Again he ower his shoulder lookd,It was to see what he could see,And there he saw his little son,Was screaming by his nourice knee.15Then out it spake the little son,‘Since ’tis the morn that he must die,If that I live to be a man,My father’s death revengd shall be.’16‘If I must die,’ Sir Hugh replied,‘My friends o me they will think lack;’He leapd a wa eighteen feet high,Wi his hands bound behind his back.17Lord Home then raised ten armed men,And after him they did pursue;But he has trudged ower the plainAs fast as ony bird that flew.18He looked ower his left shoulder,It was to see what he coud see;His brother John was at his back,And a’ the rest o his brothers three.19Some they wound, and some they slew,They fought sae fierce and valiantly;They made his enemies for to yield,And sent Sir Hugh out ower the sea.

1Lord Home he is a hunting gane,Through the woods and valleys clear,And he has taen Sir Hugh the Græme,For stealing o the bishop’s mare.

Lord Home he is a hunting gane,

Through the woods and valleys clear,

And he has taen Sir Hugh the Græme,

For stealing o the bishop’s mare.

2They hae taen Sir Hugh the Græme,Led him down thro Strieveling town;Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance,‘Sir Hugh the Græme he must go down!’

They hae taen Sir Hugh the Græme,

Led him down thro Strieveling town;

Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance,

‘Sir Hugh the Græme he must go down!’

3They hae causd a court to sit,Mang a’ their best nobilitie;Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance,‘Sir Hugh the Græme he now must die!’

They hae causd a court to sit,

Mang a’ their best nobilitie;

Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance,

‘Sir Hugh the Græme he now must die!’

4Out it speaks the lady Black,And o her will she was right free:‘A thousand pounds, my lord, I’ll gie,If Hugh the Græme set free to me.’

Out it speaks the lady Black,

And o her will she was right free:

‘A thousand pounds, my lord, I’ll gie,

If Hugh the Græme set free to me.’

5‘Hold your tongue, ye Lady Black,And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be!Though ye woud gie me thousands ten,It’s for my honour he must die.’

‘Hold your tongue, ye Lady Black,

And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be!

Though ye woud gie me thousands ten,

It’s for my honour he must die.’

6Then out it speaks her Lady Bruce,And o her will she was right free:‘A hundred steeds, my lord, I’ll gie,If ye’ll gie Hugh the Græme to me.’

Then out it speaks her Lady Bruce,

And o her will she was right free:

‘A hundred steeds, my lord, I’ll gie,

If ye’ll gie Hugh the Græme to me.’

7‘O hold your tongue, ye Lady Bruce,And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be!Though a’ the Græmes were in this court,It’s for my honour he must die.’

‘O hold your tongue, ye Lady Bruce,

And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be!

Though a’ the Græmes were in this court,

It’s for my honour he must die.’

8He looked over his shoulder,It was to see what he coud see,And there he saw his auld father,Weeping and wailing bitterlie.

He looked over his shoulder,

It was to see what he coud see,

And there he saw his auld father,

Weeping and wailing bitterlie.

9‘O hold your tongue, my old father,And ye’ll let a’ your mourning be!Though they bereave me o my life,They canno had the heavens frae me.

‘O hold your tongue, my old father,

And ye’ll let a’ your mourning be!

Though they bereave me o my life,

They canno had the heavens frae me.

10‘Ye’ll gie my brother John the swordThat’s pointed wi the metal clear,And bid him come at eight o’clock,And see me pay the bishop’s mare.

‘Ye’ll gie my brother John the sword

That’s pointed wi the metal clear,

And bid him come at eight o’clock,

And see me pay the bishop’s mare.

11‘And, brother James, take here the swordThat’s pointed wi the metal brown;Come up the morn at eight o’clock,And see your brother putten down.

‘And, brother James, take here the sword

That’s pointed wi the metal brown;

Come up the morn at eight o’clock,

And see your brother putten down.

12‘And, brother Allan, take this swordThat’s pointed wi the metal fine;Come up the morn at eight o’clock,And see the death o Hugh the Græme.

‘And, brother Allan, take this sword

That’s pointed wi the metal fine;

Come up the morn at eight o’clock,

And see the death o Hugh the Græme.

13‘Ye’ll tell this news to Maggy my wife,Niest time ye gang to Strievling town,She is the cause I lose my life,She wi the bishop playd the loon.’

‘Ye’ll tell this news to Maggy my wife,

Niest time ye gang to Strievling town,

She is the cause I lose my life,

She wi the bishop playd the loon.’

14Again he ower his shoulder lookd,It was to see what he could see,And there he saw his little son,Was screaming by his nourice knee.

Again he ower his shoulder lookd,

It was to see what he could see,

And there he saw his little son,

Was screaming by his nourice knee.

15Then out it spake the little son,‘Since ’tis the morn that he must die,If that I live to be a man,My father’s death revengd shall be.’

Then out it spake the little son,

‘Since ’tis the morn that he must die,

If that I live to be a man,

My father’s death revengd shall be.’

16‘If I must die,’ Sir Hugh replied,‘My friends o me they will think lack;’He leapd a wa eighteen feet high,Wi his hands bound behind his back.

‘If I must die,’ Sir Hugh replied,

‘My friends o me they will think lack;’

He leapd a wa eighteen feet high,

Wi his hands bound behind his back.

17Lord Home then raised ten armed men,And after him they did pursue;But he has trudged ower the plainAs fast as ony bird that flew.

Lord Home then raised ten armed men,

And after him they did pursue;

But he has trudged ower the plain

As fast as ony bird that flew.

18He looked ower his left shoulder,It was to see what he coud see;His brother John was at his back,And a’ the rest o his brothers three.

He looked ower his left shoulder,

It was to see what he coud see;

His brother John was at his back,

And a’ the rest o his brothers three.

19Some they wound, and some they slew,They fought sae fierce and valiantly;They made his enemies for to yield,And sent Sir Hugh out ower the sea.

Some they wound, and some they slew,

They fought sae fierce and valiantly;

They made his enemies for to yield,

And sent Sir Hugh out ower the sea.

Macmath MS., p. 79. “Received by me 20th August and 7th September, 1887, from my aunt, Miss Jane Webster, who derived it from her mother, Janet Spark, Kirkcudbrightshire.”

1‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,When that she comes to the fair,She was the cause of all my ruin,It was her that stole the bishop’s mare.2‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,When that she comes to the town,She was the cause of all my ruin,It was her that stole the bishop’s gown.’

1‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,When that she comes to the fair,She was the cause of all my ruin,It was her that stole the bishop’s mare.

‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,

When that she comes to the fair,

She was the cause of all my ruin,

It was her that stole the bishop’s mare.

2‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,When that she comes to the town,She was the cause of all my ruin,It was her that stole the bishop’s gown.’

‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,

When that she comes to the town,

She was the cause of all my ruin,

It was her that stole the bishop’s gown.’

Harris MS., fol. 27 b.

Dukes an lords a huntin gane,Over hills an vallies clear;There the’ve bound him Hughie Grame,For stealin o the bishop’s mare.

Dukes an lords a huntin gane,

Over hills an vallies clear;

There the’ve bound him Hughie Grame,

For stealin o the bishop’s mare.

A. a.

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in West-smith-field, neer the Hospital-gate.

122. Garland.

131. another.

223. the causer of my life.

To a pleasant new northern tune.

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden-Ball, in Westsmithfield.

33. Lords.

93. Then cry’dwanting.

94. never.

104. of the.

122. Garlard.

131. other.

213. ware.

223. the causer of my life.

224. plays.

233. borders.

Printed for P. Brooksby [torn off] West-smith-field.

24. hewanting.

53. of thy.

93. Then cry’dwanting.

104. of the.

113. thy fact.

122. Garlard.

131. other.

213. ware.

223. the causer of my life.

224. plays.

233. borders.

22. the same serime.

81. again.

82. compast.

92,3, 122. Garland.

93. Then cry’d.

101. thewanting.

114. itwanting.

131. other.

143. will I.

174. theywanting.

223. cause of the loss.

No imprint.

22. ridwanting: the same.

23. he could.

52. myforthy.

71. aswanting.

82. compast.

92,3. Garland.

93. Then cry’d.

101. to town.

104. calld to.

112. for to.

131. other.

143. will I.

184. With his.

194. come.

223. of the loss of.

84. blin’in Johnson’s Museum: blinkin Cromek.

Sir Hugh in the Grime’s Downfall, or, A New Song made on Sir Hugh in the Grime, who was hangd for stealing the Bishop’s Mare. London: Printed and sold by L. How. (About 1770?)

52. did leet:cf.A182.

104. biding.

141. tonge.

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