1Sweet William he married a wife,Gentle Jenny cried rosemareeTo be the sweet comfort of his life.As the dew flies over the mulberry tree.2Jenny couldnt in the kitchen to go,For fear of dirting her white-heeled shoes3Jenny couldn’t wash, and Jenny couldn’t bake,For fear of dirting her white apurn tape.4Jenny couldn’t card, and Jenny couldn’t spin,For fear of hurting her gay gold ring.5Sweet William came whistling in from plaow,Says, ‘O my dear wife, is my dinner ready naow?’6She called him a dirty paltry whelp:‘If you want any dinner, go get it yourself.’7Sweet William went aout unto the sheep-fold,And aout a fat wether he did pull.8And daown on his knees he began for to stick,And quicklie its skin he thereof did strip.9He took the skin and laid on his wife’s back,And with a good stick went whikety whack.10‘I’ll tell my father and all my kinHow still a quarrel you’ve begun.’11‘You may tell your father and all your kinHow I have thrashed my fat wether’s skin.’12Sweet William came whistling in from plaow,Says, ‘Oh my dear wife, is my dinner ready naow?’13She drew her table and spread her board,And, ‘Oh my dear husband,’ was every word.14And naow they live free from all care and strife,And naow she makes William a very good wife.
1Sweet William he married a wife,Gentle Jenny cried rosemareeTo be the sweet comfort of his life.As the dew flies over the mulberry tree.2Jenny couldnt in the kitchen to go,For fear of dirting her white-heeled shoes3Jenny couldn’t wash, and Jenny couldn’t bake,For fear of dirting her white apurn tape.4Jenny couldn’t card, and Jenny couldn’t spin,For fear of hurting her gay gold ring.5Sweet William came whistling in from plaow,Says, ‘O my dear wife, is my dinner ready naow?’6She called him a dirty paltry whelp:‘If you want any dinner, go get it yourself.’7Sweet William went aout unto the sheep-fold,And aout a fat wether he did pull.8And daown on his knees he began for to stick,And quicklie its skin he thereof did strip.9He took the skin and laid on his wife’s back,And with a good stick went whikety whack.10‘I’ll tell my father and all my kinHow still a quarrel you’ve begun.’11‘You may tell your father and all your kinHow I have thrashed my fat wether’s skin.’12Sweet William came whistling in from plaow,Says, ‘Oh my dear wife, is my dinner ready naow?’13She drew her table and spread her board,And, ‘Oh my dear husband,’ was every word.14And naow they live free from all care and strife,And naow she makes William a very good wife.
1Sweet William he married a wife,Gentle Jenny cried rosemareeTo be the sweet comfort of his life.As the dew flies over the mulberry tree.
1
Sweet William he married a wife,
Gentle Jenny cried rosemaree
To be the sweet comfort of his life.
As the dew flies over the mulberry tree.
2Jenny couldnt in the kitchen to go,For fear of dirting her white-heeled shoes
2
Jenny couldnt in the kitchen to go,
For fear of dirting her white-heeled shoes
3Jenny couldn’t wash, and Jenny couldn’t bake,For fear of dirting her white apurn tape.
3
Jenny couldn’t wash, and Jenny couldn’t bake,
For fear of dirting her white apurn tape.
4Jenny couldn’t card, and Jenny couldn’t spin,For fear of hurting her gay gold ring.
4
Jenny couldn’t card, and Jenny couldn’t spin,
For fear of hurting her gay gold ring.
5Sweet William came whistling in from plaow,Says, ‘O my dear wife, is my dinner ready naow?’
5
Sweet William came whistling in from plaow,
Says, ‘O my dear wife, is my dinner ready naow?’
6She called him a dirty paltry whelp:‘If you want any dinner, go get it yourself.’
6
She called him a dirty paltry whelp:
‘If you want any dinner, go get it yourself.’
7Sweet William went aout unto the sheep-fold,And aout a fat wether he did pull.
7
Sweet William went aout unto the sheep-fold,
And aout a fat wether he did pull.
8And daown on his knees he began for to stick,And quicklie its skin he thereof did strip.
8
And daown on his knees he began for to stick,
And quicklie its skin he thereof did strip.
9He took the skin and laid on his wife’s back,And with a good stick went whikety whack.
9
He took the skin and laid on his wife’s back,
And with a good stick went whikety whack.
10‘I’ll tell my father and all my kinHow still a quarrel you’ve begun.’
10
‘I’ll tell my father and all my kin
How still a quarrel you’ve begun.’
11‘You may tell your father and all your kinHow I have thrashed my fat wether’s skin.’
11
‘You may tell your father and all your kin
How I have thrashed my fat wether’s skin.’
12Sweet William came whistling in from plaow,Says, ‘Oh my dear wife, is my dinner ready naow?’
12
Sweet William came whistling in from plaow,
Says, ‘Oh my dear wife, is my dinner ready naow?’
13She drew her table and spread her board,And, ‘Oh my dear husband,’ was every word.
13
She drew her table and spread her board,
And, ‘Oh my dear husband,’ was every word.
14And naow they live free from all care and strife,And naow she makes William a very good wife.
14
And naow they live free from all care and strife,
And naow she makes William a very good wife.
Folk-Lore Society, County Folk-Lore, Printed Extracts: No 2, Suffolk, 1893, collected and edited by the Lady Eveline Camilla Gurdon, p. 139 f. Contributed by “a Suffolk man†to the Suffolk Notes and Queries column of The Ipswich Journal, 1877.
1There wus a man lived in the West,Limbo clashmo!There wus a man lived in the West,He married the wuman that he liked best.With a ricararo, ricararo, milk in the morn,O dary mingo.2He married this wuman and browt her hom,And set her in his best parlour rom.3My man and I went to the fowd,And ketcht the finest wuther that we could howd.4We fleed this wuther and browt him hom,Sez I, ‘Wife, now youar begun yar doon.’5I laid this skin on my wife’s back,And on to it I then did swack.6I ’inted har with ashen ile,Limbo clashmo!I ’inted har with ashen ile,Till she could both brew, bake, wash and bile.O dary mingo—mingo.
1There wus a man lived in the West,Limbo clashmo!There wus a man lived in the West,He married the wuman that he liked best.With a ricararo, ricararo, milk in the morn,O dary mingo.2He married this wuman and browt her hom,And set her in his best parlour rom.3My man and I went to the fowd,And ketcht the finest wuther that we could howd.4We fleed this wuther and browt him hom,Sez I, ‘Wife, now youar begun yar doon.’5I laid this skin on my wife’s back,And on to it I then did swack.6I ’inted har with ashen ile,Limbo clashmo!I ’inted har with ashen ile,Till she could both brew, bake, wash and bile.O dary mingo—mingo.
1There wus a man lived in the West,Limbo clashmo!There wus a man lived in the West,He married the wuman that he liked best.With a ricararo, ricararo, milk in the morn,O dary mingo.
1
There wus a man lived in the West,
Limbo clashmo!
There wus a man lived in the West,
He married the wuman that he liked best.
With a ricararo, ricararo, milk in the morn,
O dary mingo.
2He married this wuman and browt her hom,And set her in his best parlour rom.
2
He married this wuman and browt her hom,
And set her in his best parlour rom.
3My man and I went to the fowd,And ketcht the finest wuther that we could howd.
3
My man and I went to the fowd,
And ketcht the finest wuther that we could howd.
4We fleed this wuther and browt him hom,Sez I, ‘Wife, now youar begun yar doon.’
4
We fleed this wuther and browt him hom,
Sez I, ‘Wife, now youar begun yar doon.’
5I laid this skin on my wife’s back,And on to it I then did swack.
5
I laid this skin on my wife’s back,
And on to it I then did swack.
6I ’inted har with ashen ile,Limbo clashmo!I ’inted har with ashen ile,Till she could both brew, bake, wash and bile.O dary mingo—mingo.
6
I ’inted har with ashen ile,
Limbo clashmo!
I ’inted har with ashen ile,
Till she could both brew, bake, wash and bile.
O dary mingo—mingo.
P. 107 a. This has no connection with the story in Wendenmuth, Œsterley, I, 366, p. 402; see Œsterley’s note, V, 60.
Compare the broadside ballad ‘The Devil and the Scold,’ Roxburghe Collection, I, 340, 341; Chappell, Roxburghe Ballads, II, i, 367 ff.; Collier, Book of Roxburghe Ballads, 1847, p. 35 ff.
P. 116. Motherwell sent a copy ofCto Sharpe with a letter from Paisley, 8th October, 1825, and printedCin an article on “Scottish Song†in the Paisley Magazine, 1828, p. 621, in both cases with two or three insignificant variations. He mentions in the latter another version in which the hero is called King James, in accordance with the vulgar traditions concerning the Gudeman o Ballengoich.
In Findlay’s MSS, I, 144, there are five unimportant stanzas, nearer toDthan to the other versions, and having, likeD, the title ‘The Gaberlunzie Laddie.’
P. 137.B.Mr Macmath has a copy of ‘The Goulden Vanitee’ in the handwriting of Peter Scott Fraser which is identical with that printed by Logan except that it hasVaniteeforVanitiein 13and 92,Countreein 42,they row’din 61,Oh!in 81, andEck iddle dee(notdu) in the burden. Mr. Macmath notes thatBwas printed by Mrs. Gordon, in Christopher North, a Memoir of John Wilson, Edinburgh, 1862, II, 317 ff., in a form identical with that in Mr. Fraser’s MS. copy [except for one variation (they’ve row’dforthey row’din 61)].
P. 135. A copy taken down from the lips of an old Suffolk (Monk Soham) laborer was contributed by Archdeacon Robert Hindes Groome to Suffolk Notes and Queries in the Ipswich Journal [1877-78], and is repeated in Two Suffolk Friends, 1895, p. 46. W. Macmath.
P. 156. Mr Macmath has called my attention to a ballad on the story of Child Owlet by William Bennet in The Dumfries Monthly Magazine, II, 402, 1826. This piece, called ‘Young Edward,’ “is founded upon a tradition still current in the district in which Morton Castle is situated.†Its quality is that of the old-magazine ballad.
P. 165. Dugald Gunn, Mr Macmath suggests, may have been a mistaken reading of Scott’s difficult handwriting on the part of the editor of the Ballad Book; as is certainly the case with regard to The Stirrup of Northumberland, V, 207 b, No 9,G.
I unhappily forgot Buchan’s ‘Donald M’Queen’s Flight wi Lizie Menzie,’ Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 117, which, though I think it corrupted at the end, removes the principal verbal difficulties in the Old Lady’s copy. Mr Walker of Aberdeen has reminded me of Buchan’s ballad, and he had previously suggested to me that Dunfermline was proprietor of Fyvie, and this fact had disposed me to read Fyvie where the text already given has farei, farie. Of the rightfulness of this reading there can now be no doubt, though information is desirable as to the tempting cheese of Fyvie, of which I have not found mention elsewhere.
Buchan, II, 319, makes the following note on his copy:—
“Donald M’Queen, the hero of this ballad, was one of the servants of Baron Seaton of Fyvie, who, with his master, had fled to France after the rebellion in 1715. Baron Seaton having died in France, Donald, his man, returned to Fyvie with one of his master’s best horses, and procured a love potion,alias‘the tempting cheese of Fyvie,’ which had the effect of bewitching, or, in other words, casting the glamour oer his mistress, Lizie Menzie, the Lady of Fyvie. Some years afterwards this lady went through the country as a common pauper, when, being much fatigued, and in a forlorn condition, she fell fast asleep in the mill of Fyvie, whither she had gone to solicit an alms (charity): on her awakening, she declared that she had just now slept as soun a sleep with the meal-pock beneath her head, as ever she had done on the best down-bed of Fyvie. This information I had from James Rankin, an old blind man, who is well acquainted with the traditions of the country.â€
“Donald M’Queen, the hero of this ballad, was one of the servants of Baron Seaton of Fyvie, who, with his master, had fled to France after the rebellion in 1715. Baron Seaton having died in France, Donald, his man, returned to Fyvie with one of his master’s best horses, and procured a love potion,alias‘the tempting cheese of Fyvie,’ which had the effect of bewitching, or, in other words, casting the glamour oer his mistress, Lizie Menzie, the Lady of Fyvie. Some years afterwards this lady went through the country as a common pauper, when, being much fatigued, and in a forlorn condition, she fell fast asleep in the mill of Fyvie, whither she had gone to solicit an alms (charity): on her awakening, she declared that she had just now slept as soun a sleep with the meal-pock beneath her head, as ever she had done on the best down-bed of Fyvie. This information I had from James Rankin, an old blind man, who is well acquainted with the traditions of the country.â€
Alexander Seaton acquired Fyvie, it is said, in 1596, and in 1606 was created Earl of Dunfermline. Castle and title were forfeited in 1689, and the property was purchased of the crown in 1726 by the Earl of Aberdeen. Dunfermline had no horses for Dugald or Donald to take after 1689. The whole story of Lizie Menzie, Baroness of Seaton, seems to be a fiction as sheer as it is vulgar. Lizie Menzie’s forsaking her husband for a footman is refuted by the well-informed Rankin himself, who tells us that the husband had died in France before his man “returned to Fyvie with one ofhis master’s best horses.†The conclusion is borrowed mostly from ‘The Gypsy Laddie,’ where even the drinking of one’s own brewage is to be found; but ‘The Gypsy Laddie’ is not to be reproached with the foolish last stanza.
1Donald, he’s come to this town,And he’s been lang awa,And he is on to Lizie’s bedside,Wi his tartan trews and a’.2‘How woud you like me, Lizie,’ he said,‘An I ware a’ your ain,Wi tartan coat upo my back,And single-soled sheen,A blue bonnetie on my head,And my twa winking een?’3‘Weel woud I like you, Donald,’ she said,‘An ye ware a’ my ain,Wi tartan coat upo your back,And single-soled sheen,And little blue bonnetie on your head,And blessings on your een.4‘But how woud ye like me, Donald,’ she said,‘An I ware a’ your ain,Wi a siller snood into my head,A gowd fan in my hand,And maidens clad in green satins,To be at my command?’5‘Weel woud I like you, Lizie,’ he said,‘And ye ware a’ my ain,Wi a siller snood into your head,A gowd fan in your hand,But nane o your maidens clad in green,To be at your command.’6Then but it speaks her mither dear,Says, ‘Lizie, I maun cross you;To gang alang wi this young man,We’d think we had but lost you.’7‘O had your tongue, my mither dear,And dinna think to break me;For I will gang wi this young man,If it is his will to take me.’8Donald M’Queen rade up the green,On ane o Dumfermline’s horses,And Lizie Menzie followed him,Thro a’ her father’s forces.9‘O follow me, Lizie, my heart’s delight,And follow me for you please;Rype well the grounds o my pouches,And ye’ll get tempting cheese.’10‘O wae mat worth you, Donald M’Queen!Alas, that ever I saw thee!The first love-token ye gae meWas the tempting cheese o Fyvie.11‘O wae be to the tempting cheese,The tempting cheese o Fyvie,Gart me forsake my ain gudemanAnd follow a footman-laddie!12‘But lat me drink a hearty browst,Just sic as I did brew!On Seton brave I turnd my back,A’ for the sake o you.’13She didna wear the silken gownsWere made into Dumbarton,But she is to the Highlands gane,To wear the weeds o tartan.14She’s casten aff the high-heeld sheen,Made o the Turkey leather,And she’s put on the single brogues,To skip amo the heather.15Well can Donald hunt the buck,And well can Lizie sew;Whan ither trades begin to fail,They can take their bowies and brew.
1Donald, he’s come to this town,And he’s been lang awa,And he is on to Lizie’s bedside,Wi his tartan trews and a’.2‘How woud you like me, Lizie,’ he said,‘An I ware a’ your ain,Wi tartan coat upo my back,And single-soled sheen,A blue bonnetie on my head,And my twa winking een?’3‘Weel woud I like you, Donald,’ she said,‘An ye ware a’ my ain,Wi tartan coat upo your back,And single-soled sheen,And little blue bonnetie on your head,And blessings on your een.4‘But how woud ye like me, Donald,’ she said,‘An I ware a’ your ain,Wi a siller snood into my head,A gowd fan in my hand,And maidens clad in green satins,To be at my command?’5‘Weel woud I like you, Lizie,’ he said,‘And ye ware a’ my ain,Wi a siller snood into your head,A gowd fan in your hand,But nane o your maidens clad in green,To be at your command.’6Then but it speaks her mither dear,Says, ‘Lizie, I maun cross you;To gang alang wi this young man,We’d think we had but lost you.’7‘O had your tongue, my mither dear,And dinna think to break me;For I will gang wi this young man,If it is his will to take me.’8Donald M’Queen rade up the green,On ane o Dumfermline’s horses,And Lizie Menzie followed him,Thro a’ her father’s forces.9‘O follow me, Lizie, my heart’s delight,And follow me for you please;Rype well the grounds o my pouches,And ye’ll get tempting cheese.’10‘O wae mat worth you, Donald M’Queen!Alas, that ever I saw thee!The first love-token ye gae meWas the tempting cheese o Fyvie.11‘O wae be to the tempting cheese,The tempting cheese o Fyvie,Gart me forsake my ain gudemanAnd follow a footman-laddie!12‘But lat me drink a hearty browst,Just sic as I did brew!On Seton brave I turnd my back,A’ for the sake o you.’13She didna wear the silken gownsWere made into Dumbarton,But she is to the Highlands gane,To wear the weeds o tartan.14She’s casten aff the high-heeld sheen,Made o the Turkey leather,And she’s put on the single brogues,To skip amo the heather.15Well can Donald hunt the buck,And well can Lizie sew;Whan ither trades begin to fail,They can take their bowies and brew.
1Donald, he’s come to this town,And he’s been lang awa,And he is on to Lizie’s bedside,Wi his tartan trews and a’.
1
Donald, he’s come to this town,
And he’s been lang awa,
And he is on to Lizie’s bedside,
Wi his tartan trews and a’.
2‘How woud you like me, Lizie,’ he said,‘An I ware a’ your ain,Wi tartan coat upo my back,And single-soled sheen,A blue bonnetie on my head,And my twa winking een?’
2
‘How woud you like me, Lizie,’ he said,
‘An I ware a’ your ain,
Wi tartan coat upo my back,
And single-soled sheen,
A blue bonnetie on my head,
And my twa winking een?’
3‘Weel woud I like you, Donald,’ she said,‘An ye ware a’ my ain,Wi tartan coat upo your back,And single-soled sheen,And little blue bonnetie on your head,And blessings on your een.
3
‘Weel woud I like you, Donald,’ she said,
‘An ye ware a’ my ain,
Wi tartan coat upo your back,
And single-soled sheen,
And little blue bonnetie on your head,
And blessings on your een.
4‘But how woud ye like me, Donald,’ she said,‘An I ware a’ your ain,Wi a siller snood into my head,A gowd fan in my hand,And maidens clad in green satins,To be at my command?’
4
‘But how woud ye like me, Donald,’ she said,
‘An I ware a’ your ain,
Wi a siller snood into my head,
A gowd fan in my hand,
And maidens clad in green satins,
To be at my command?’
5‘Weel woud I like you, Lizie,’ he said,‘And ye ware a’ my ain,Wi a siller snood into your head,A gowd fan in your hand,But nane o your maidens clad in green,To be at your command.’
5
‘Weel woud I like you, Lizie,’ he said,
‘And ye ware a’ my ain,
Wi a siller snood into your head,
A gowd fan in your hand,
But nane o your maidens clad in green,
To be at your command.’
6Then but it speaks her mither dear,Says, ‘Lizie, I maun cross you;To gang alang wi this young man,We’d think we had but lost you.’
6
Then but it speaks her mither dear,
Says, ‘Lizie, I maun cross you;
To gang alang wi this young man,
We’d think we had but lost you.’
7‘O had your tongue, my mither dear,And dinna think to break me;For I will gang wi this young man,If it is his will to take me.’
7
‘O had your tongue, my mither dear,
And dinna think to break me;
For I will gang wi this young man,
If it is his will to take me.’
8Donald M’Queen rade up the green,On ane o Dumfermline’s horses,And Lizie Menzie followed him,Thro a’ her father’s forces.
8
Donald M’Queen rade up the green,
On ane o Dumfermline’s horses,
And Lizie Menzie followed him,
Thro a’ her father’s forces.
9‘O follow me, Lizie, my heart’s delight,And follow me for you please;Rype well the grounds o my pouches,And ye’ll get tempting cheese.’
9
‘O follow me, Lizie, my heart’s delight,
And follow me for you please;
Rype well the grounds o my pouches,
And ye’ll get tempting cheese.’
10‘O wae mat worth you, Donald M’Queen!Alas, that ever I saw thee!The first love-token ye gae meWas the tempting cheese o Fyvie.
10
‘O wae mat worth you, Donald M’Queen!
Alas, that ever I saw thee!
The first love-token ye gae me
Was the tempting cheese o Fyvie.
11‘O wae be to the tempting cheese,The tempting cheese o Fyvie,Gart me forsake my ain gudemanAnd follow a footman-laddie!
11
‘O wae be to the tempting cheese,
The tempting cheese o Fyvie,
Gart me forsake my ain gudeman
And follow a footman-laddie!
12‘But lat me drink a hearty browst,Just sic as I did brew!On Seton brave I turnd my back,A’ for the sake o you.’
12
‘But lat me drink a hearty browst,
Just sic as I did brew!
On Seton brave I turnd my back,
A’ for the sake o you.’
13She didna wear the silken gownsWere made into Dumbarton,But she is to the Highlands gane,To wear the weeds o tartan.
13
She didna wear the silken gowns
Were made into Dumbarton,
But she is to the Highlands gane,
To wear the weeds o tartan.
14She’s casten aff the high-heeld sheen,Made o the Turkey leather,And she’s put on the single brogues,To skip amo the heather.
14
She’s casten aff the high-heeld sheen,
Made o the Turkey leather,
And she’s put on the single brogues,
To skip amo the heather.
15Well can Donald hunt the buck,And well can Lizie sew;Whan ither trades begin to fail,They can take their bowies and brew.
15
Well can Donald hunt the buck,
And well can Lizie sew;
Whan ither trades begin to fail,
They can take their bowies and brew.
P. 174.
P. 174.
‘The Trooper Lad.’ Communicated by Mr Macmath, with this note: “Received, 21st August, 1895, at Crossmichael, from my aunt, Miss Jane Webster. Learned by her many years ago, at Airds of Kells, from the singing of John Coltart.â€
1The trooper lad cam to oor gate,And oh! but he was weary,He rapped at and chapped at,Syne called for his kind deary.2The bonnie lass being in the close,The moon was shining clearly,—‘Ye’r welcome here, my trooper lad,Ye’r welcome, my kind deary.’3She’s taen his horse by the bridle-reins,And led him to the stable,She’s gien him corn and hay to eat,As much as he was able.4She’s taen the knight by the milk-white hand,And led him to her chamber,And gied him bread and cheese to eat,And wine to drink his pleasure.5‘Bonnie lassie, I’ll lie near ye noo,Bonnie lassie, I’ll lie near ye,An I’ll gar a’ your ribbons reelIn the morning or I leave ye.’6.   .   .   .   .   .   ..   .   .   .   .   .   .And she put off her wee white smock,Crying, ‘Laddie, are ye ready?’*   *   *   *   *   *7The first time that the trumpet playedWas, Up, up and awa, man!The next time that the trumpet playedWas, The morn’s the battle-day, man!8‘Bonnie lassie, I maun leave ye noo,Bonnie lassie, I maun leave ye;But, if e’er I come this way againI will ca in an see ye.’9Bread and cheese for gentlemen,An corn and hay for horses;Pipes and tobacco for auld wives,And bonnie lads for lasses.10‘When will us twa meet again?When will we meet and marry?’‘When cockle-shells turn silver bells,Nae langer, love, we’ll tarry.’11So he’s taen his auld grey cloak about him noo,An he’s ower the mountains fairly,Crying, ‘Fare ye weel, my bonnie lass,Fareweel, my ain kind deary.’
1The trooper lad cam to oor gate,And oh! but he was weary,He rapped at and chapped at,Syne called for his kind deary.2The bonnie lass being in the close,The moon was shining clearly,—‘Ye’r welcome here, my trooper lad,Ye’r welcome, my kind deary.’3She’s taen his horse by the bridle-reins,And led him to the stable,She’s gien him corn and hay to eat,As much as he was able.4She’s taen the knight by the milk-white hand,And led him to her chamber,And gied him bread and cheese to eat,And wine to drink his pleasure.5‘Bonnie lassie, I’ll lie near ye noo,Bonnie lassie, I’ll lie near ye,An I’ll gar a’ your ribbons reelIn the morning or I leave ye.’6.   .   .   .   .   .   ..   .   .   .   .   .   .And she put off her wee white smock,Crying, ‘Laddie, are ye ready?’*   *   *   *   *   *7The first time that the trumpet playedWas, Up, up and awa, man!The next time that the trumpet playedWas, The morn’s the battle-day, man!8‘Bonnie lassie, I maun leave ye noo,Bonnie lassie, I maun leave ye;But, if e’er I come this way againI will ca in an see ye.’9Bread and cheese for gentlemen,An corn and hay for horses;Pipes and tobacco for auld wives,And bonnie lads for lasses.10‘When will us twa meet again?When will we meet and marry?’‘When cockle-shells turn silver bells,Nae langer, love, we’ll tarry.’11So he’s taen his auld grey cloak about him noo,An he’s ower the mountains fairly,Crying, ‘Fare ye weel, my bonnie lass,Fareweel, my ain kind deary.’
1The trooper lad cam to oor gate,And oh! but he was weary,He rapped at and chapped at,Syne called for his kind deary.
1
The trooper lad cam to oor gate,
And oh! but he was weary,
He rapped at and chapped at,
Syne called for his kind deary.
2The bonnie lass being in the close,The moon was shining clearly,—‘Ye’r welcome here, my trooper lad,Ye’r welcome, my kind deary.’
2
The bonnie lass being in the close,
The moon was shining clearly,—
‘Ye’r welcome here, my trooper lad,
Ye’r welcome, my kind deary.’
3She’s taen his horse by the bridle-reins,And led him to the stable,She’s gien him corn and hay to eat,As much as he was able.
3
She’s taen his horse by the bridle-reins,
And led him to the stable,
She’s gien him corn and hay to eat,
As much as he was able.
4She’s taen the knight by the milk-white hand,And led him to her chamber,And gied him bread and cheese to eat,And wine to drink his pleasure.
4
She’s taen the knight by the milk-white hand,
And led him to her chamber,
And gied him bread and cheese to eat,
And wine to drink his pleasure.
5‘Bonnie lassie, I’ll lie near ye noo,Bonnie lassie, I’ll lie near ye,An I’ll gar a’ your ribbons reelIn the morning or I leave ye.’
5
‘Bonnie lassie, I’ll lie near ye noo,
Bonnie lassie, I’ll lie near ye,
An I’ll gar a’ your ribbons reel
In the morning or I leave ye.’
6.   .   .   .   .   .   ..   .   .   .   .   .   .And she put off her wee white smock,Crying, ‘Laddie, are ye ready?’
6
.   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .
And she put off her wee white smock,
Crying, ‘Laddie, are ye ready?’
*   *   *   *   *   *
*   *   *   *   *   *
7The first time that the trumpet playedWas, Up, up and awa, man!The next time that the trumpet playedWas, The morn’s the battle-day, man!
7
The first time that the trumpet played
Was, Up, up and awa, man!
The next time that the trumpet played
Was, The morn’s the battle-day, man!
8‘Bonnie lassie, I maun leave ye noo,Bonnie lassie, I maun leave ye;But, if e’er I come this way againI will ca in an see ye.’
8
‘Bonnie lassie, I maun leave ye noo,
Bonnie lassie, I maun leave ye;
But, if e’er I come this way again
I will ca in an see ye.’
9Bread and cheese for gentlemen,An corn and hay for horses;Pipes and tobacco for auld wives,And bonnie lads for lasses.
9
Bread and cheese for gentlemen,
An corn and hay for horses;
Pipes and tobacco for auld wives,
And bonnie lads for lasses.
10‘When will us twa meet again?When will we meet and marry?’‘When cockle-shells turn silver bells,Nae langer, love, we’ll tarry.’
10
‘When will us twa meet again?
When will we meet and marry?’
‘When cockle-shells turn silver bells,
Nae langer, love, we’ll tarry.’
11So he’s taen his auld grey cloak about him noo,An he’s ower the mountains fairly,Crying, ‘Fare ye weel, my bonnie lass,Fareweel, my ain kind deary.’
11
So he’s taen his auld grey cloak about him noo,
An he’s ower the mountains fairly,
Crying, ‘Fare ye weel, my bonnie lass,
Fareweel, my ain kind deary.’
Mr Macmath adds the following stanza, “remembered by Miss Agnes Macmath, 2nd January, 1896, from the singing of her mother.â€
‘When will we twa meet again?When will we meet and marry?’‘When peace and truth come to this land,Nae langer, love, we’ll tarry.’
‘When will we twa meet again?When will we meet and marry?’‘When peace and truth come to this land,Nae langer, love, we’ll tarry.’
‘When will we twa meet again?When will we meet and marry?’‘When peace and truth come to this land,Nae langer, love, we’ll tarry.’
‘When will we twa meet again?
When will we meet and marry?’
‘When peace and truth come to this land,
Nae langer, love, we’ll tarry.’
P. 186 a. Mr Macmath writes (Dec. 24, 1895) that he has examined two boxes of MSS belonging to the late Mr George Wilson and foundnot‘The Song of the Outlaw Murray,’ but ‘The Song of the Rid Square,’ in a transcript (perhaps early rather than late) of the 17th century. He thinks that by a slip of memory on Mr Wilson’s part ‘The Outlaw Murray’ was mentioned instead of this.
P. 202 b, last stanza. Mr Macmath has given me the following variation, communicated (with a story of a wife carried off by fairies) by J. C. to The Scottish Journal, II, 275, 1848.
O Alva woods are bonnie,Tillycoultry hills are fair,But when I think on the braes o MenstrieIt maks my heart aye sair.
O Alva woods are bonnie,Tillycoultry hills are fair,But when I think on the braes o MenstrieIt maks my heart aye sair.
O Alva woods are bonnie,Tillycoultry hills are fair,But when I think on the braes o MenstrieIt maks my heart aye sair.
O Alva woods are bonnie,
Tillycoultry hills are fair,
But when I think on the braes o Menstrie
It maks my heart aye sair.
P. 210 b, to III, 500. Mr Macmath informs me that the manuscript of Motherwell here referred to is the same as that already printed, and correctly printed, at III, 500 f.
FOOTNOTES:[126]All the ballads in Scott’s Minstrelsy, excepting a few pieces, of which only ‘Cospatrick’ and ‘The Bonny Hind’ require mention, were translated in Historische und romantische Balladen der Schottischen Grenzlande, Zwickau, 1826-7, 7 small vols, by Elise von Hohenhausen, Willibald Alexis, and Wilhelm von Lüdemann, a work now rare, which has just come to hand. Registering these translations here, in 53 entries, would require an unwarrantable space.[127]Mild Mary is an appellation which occurs elsewhere (as in No 91E), and Mary Hamilton and Mary mild are interchangeable inX. It is barely worth remarking that Myle, Moil, inC,S, are merely varieties of pronunciation, and Miles inW, an ordinary kind of corruption.[128]In the 18th century we have ‘Derwentwater’ and ‘Rob Roy,’ both of slight value; in the 17th ‘The Fire of Frendraught’ and ‘The Baron of Brackley,’ both fairly good ballads, and others of some merit; but nothing in either to be compared with ‘Mary Hamilton.’[129]As to the “ballads†about the Maries mentioned by Knox, I conceive that these may mean nothing more than verses of any sort to the discredit of these ladies.
[126]All the ballads in Scott’s Minstrelsy, excepting a few pieces, of which only ‘Cospatrick’ and ‘The Bonny Hind’ require mention, were translated in Historische und romantische Balladen der Schottischen Grenzlande, Zwickau, 1826-7, 7 small vols, by Elise von Hohenhausen, Willibald Alexis, and Wilhelm von Lüdemann, a work now rare, which has just come to hand. Registering these translations here, in 53 entries, would require an unwarrantable space.
[126]All the ballads in Scott’s Minstrelsy, excepting a few pieces, of which only ‘Cospatrick’ and ‘The Bonny Hind’ require mention, were translated in Historische und romantische Balladen der Schottischen Grenzlande, Zwickau, 1826-7, 7 small vols, by Elise von Hohenhausen, Willibald Alexis, and Wilhelm von Lüdemann, a work now rare, which has just come to hand. Registering these translations here, in 53 entries, would require an unwarrantable space.
[127]Mild Mary is an appellation which occurs elsewhere (as in No 91E), and Mary Hamilton and Mary mild are interchangeable inX. It is barely worth remarking that Myle, Moil, inC,S, are merely varieties of pronunciation, and Miles inW, an ordinary kind of corruption.
[127]Mild Mary is an appellation which occurs elsewhere (as in No 91E), and Mary Hamilton and Mary mild are interchangeable inX. It is barely worth remarking that Myle, Moil, inC,S, are merely varieties of pronunciation, and Miles inW, an ordinary kind of corruption.
[128]In the 18th century we have ‘Derwentwater’ and ‘Rob Roy,’ both of slight value; in the 17th ‘The Fire of Frendraught’ and ‘The Baron of Brackley,’ both fairly good ballads, and others of some merit; but nothing in either to be compared with ‘Mary Hamilton.’
[128]In the 18th century we have ‘Derwentwater’ and ‘Rob Roy,’ both of slight value; in the 17th ‘The Fire of Frendraught’ and ‘The Baron of Brackley,’ both fairly good ballads, and others of some merit; but nothing in either to be compared with ‘Mary Hamilton.’
[129]As to the “ballads†about the Maries mentioned by Knox, I conceive that these may mean nothing more than verses of any sort to the discredit of these ladies.
[129]As to the “ballads†about the Maries mentioned by Knox, I conceive that these may mean nothing more than verses of any sort to the discredit of these ladies.