FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[452]dee = die.[453]wight = sturdy.[454]louted = bowed.

[452]dee = die.

[453]wight = sturdy.

[454]louted = bowed.

IA fair maid sat in her bower-door,Wringing her lily hands,And by it came a sprightly youth,Fast tripping o’er the strands.II‘Where gang ye, young John,’ she says,‘Sae early in the day?It gars me think, by your fast trip,Your journey’s far away.’IIIHe turn’d about wi’ a surly look,And said, ‘What’s that to thee?I’m gaen to see a lovely maid,Mair fairer far than ye.’—IV‘Now hae ye play’d me this, fause love,In simmer, ’mid the flowers?I shall repay ye back again,In winter, ’mid the showers.V‘But again, dear love, and again, dear love,Will ye not turn again?For as ye look to other women,Sall I to other men.’—VI‘Go make your choice of whom you please,For I my choice will have;I’ve chosen a maid more fair than thee,I never will deceive.’VIIShe’s kilted up her claithing fine,And after him gaed she;But aye he said, ‘Ye’ll turn again,Nae farther gang wi’ me.’—VIII‘But again, dear love, and again, dear love,Will ye ne’er love me again?Alas, for loving you sae well,And you nae me again!’IXThe firstan town that they cam’ till,He bought her brooch and ring;And aye he bade her turn again,And nae farther gang wi’ him.X‘But again, dear love, and again, dear love,Will ye ne’er love me again?Alas, for loving you sae well,And you nae me again!’XIThe nextan town that they cam’ till,He bought her muff and gloves;But aye he bade her turn again,And choose some other loves.XII‘But again, dear love, and again, dear love,Will ye ne’er love me again?Alas, for loving you sae well,And you nae me again!’XIIIThe nextan town that they cam’ till,His heart it grew mair fain,And he was as deep in love wi’ herAs she was ower again.XIVThe nextan town that they cam’ till,He bought her wedding gown,And made her lady of ha’s and bowers,Into sweet Berwick town.

A fair maid sat in her bower-door,Wringing her lily hands,And by it came a sprightly youth,Fast tripping o’er the strands.

‘Where gang ye, young John,’ she says,‘Sae early in the day?It gars me think, by your fast trip,Your journey’s far away.’

He turn’d about wi’ a surly look,And said, ‘What’s that to thee?I’m gaen to see a lovely maid,Mair fairer far than ye.’—

‘Now hae ye play’d me this, fause love,In simmer, ’mid the flowers?I shall repay ye back again,In winter, ’mid the showers.

‘But again, dear love, and again, dear love,Will ye not turn again?For as ye look to other women,Sall I to other men.’—

‘Go make your choice of whom you please,For I my choice will have;I’ve chosen a maid more fair than thee,I never will deceive.’

She’s kilted up her claithing fine,And after him gaed she;But aye he said, ‘Ye’ll turn again,Nae farther gang wi’ me.’—

‘But again, dear love, and again, dear love,Will ye ne’er love me again?Alas, for loving you sae well,And you nae me again!’

The firstan town that they cam’ till,He bought her brooch and ring;And aye he bade her turn again,And nae farther gang wi’ him.

‘But again, dear love, and again, dear love,Will ye ne’er love me again?Alas, for loving you sae well,And you nae me again!’

The nextan town that they cam’ till,He bought her muff and gloves;But aye he bade her turn again,And choose some other loves.

‘But again, dear love, and again, dear love,Will ye ne’er love me again?Alas, for loving you sae well,And you nae me again!’

The nextan town that they cam’ till,His heart it grew mair fain,And he was as deep in love wi’ herAs she was ower again.

The nextan town that they cam’ till,He bought her wedding gown,And made her lady of ha’s and bowers,Into sweet Berwick town.

IThe young lords o’ the north countryHave all a-wooing gone,To win the love of Lady Maisry,But o’ them she wou’d hae none.IIO they hae courted Lady MaisryWi’ a’ kin kind of things;An’ they hae sought her Lady MaisryWi’ brooches an’ wi’ rings.IIIAn’ they ha’ sought her Lady MaisryFrae father and frae mother;An’ they ha’ sought her Lady MaisryFrae sister an’ frae brother.IVAn’ they ha’ follow’d her Lady MaisryThro’ chamber an’ thro’ ha’;But a’ that they cou’d say to her,Her answer still was Na.V‘O haud your tongues, young men,’ she says,‘An’ think nae mair o’ me;For I’ve gi’en my love to an English lord,An’ think nae mair o’ me.’VIHer father’s kitchy-boy heard that,An ill death may he dee!An’ he is on to her brother,As fast as gang cou’d he.VII‘O is my father an’ my mother well,But an’ my brothers three?Gin my sister Lady Maisry be well,There’s naething can ail me.’—VIII‘Your father an’ your mother is well,But an’ your brothers three;Your sister Lady Maisry’s well,So big wi’ bairn gangs she.’IX‘Gin this be true you tell to me,My malison light on thee!But gin it be a lie you tell,You sal be hangit hie.’XHe’s done him to his sister’s bow’r,Wi’ meikle doole an’ care;An’ there he saw her Lady MaisryKaiming her yellow hair.XI‘O wha is aught[455]that bairn,’ he says,‘That ye sae big are wi’?And gin ye winna own the truth,This moment ye sall dee.’XIIShe turn’d her right and roun’ about,An’ the kame fell frae her han’;A trembling seiz’d her fair body,An’ her rosy cheek grew wan.XIII‘O pardon me, my brother dear,An’ the truth I’ll tell to thee;My bairn it is to Lord William,An’ he is betroth’d to me.’—XIV‘O cou’d na ye gotten dukes, or lords,Intill your ain country,That ye draw up wi’ an English dog,To bring this shame on me?XV‘But ye maun gi’ up the English lord,Whan your young babe is born;For, gin you keep by him an hour langer,Your life sall be forlorn[456].’—XVI‘I will gi’ up this English blood,Till my young babe be born;But the never a day nor hour langer,Tho’ my life should be forlorn.’—XVII‘O whare is a’ my merry young men,Whom I gi’ meat and fee,To pu’ the thistle and the thorn,To burn this woman wi’?’—XVIIIShe turn’d her head on her left shoulder,Saw her girdle hang on a tree;‘O God bless them wha gave me that,They’ll never give more to me.XIX‘O whare will I get a bonny boy,To help me in my need,To rin wi’ haste to Lord William,And bid him come wi’ speed?’—XXO out it spake a bonny boy,Stood by her brother’s side:‘O I would run your errand, lady,O’er a’ the world sae wide.XXI‘Aft have I run your errands, lady,Whan blawn baith win’ and weet;But now I’ll rin your errand, lady,Wi’ saut tears on my cheek.’XXIIO whan he came to broken briggs,He bent his bow and swam,An’ whan he came to the green grass growin’He slack’d his shoone and ran.XXIIIO whan he came to Lord William’s gates,He baed[457]na to chap[458]or ca’,But set his bent bow till his breast,An’ lightly lap’ the wa’;An’, or the porter was at the gate,The boy was i’ the ha’.XXIV‘O is my biggins[459]broken, boy?Or is my towers won?Or is my lady lighter yet,Of a dear daughter or son?’—XXV‘Your biggin is na broken, sir,Nor is your towers won;But the fairest lady in a’ the landFor you this day maun burn.’—XXVI‘O saddle me the black, the black,Or saddle me the brown;O saddle me the swiftest steedThat ever rade frae a town!’XXVIIOr he was near a mile awa’,She heard his wild horse sneeze:‘Mend up the fire, my false brother,It’s na come to my knees.’XXVIIIO whan he lighted at the gate,She heard his bridle ring;‘Mend up the fire, my false brother,It’s far yet frae my chin.XXIX‘Mend up the fire to me, brother,Mend up the fire to me;For I see him comin’ hard an’ fast,Will soon mend it up to thee.XXX‘O gin my hands had been loose, Willy,Sae hard as they are boun’,I would have turn’d me frae the gleed[460],And casten out your young son.’—XXXI‘O I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,Your father an’ your mother;An’ I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,Your sister an’ your brother.XXXII‘An’ I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,The chief of a’ your kin;An’ the last bonfire that I come to,Mysel’ I will cast in.’

The young lords o’ the north countryHave all a-wooing gone,To win the love of Lady Maisry,But o’ them she wou’d hae none.

O they hae courted Lady MaisryWi’ a’ kin kind of things;An’ they hae sought her Lady MaisryWi’ brooches an’ wi’ rings.

An’ they ha’ sought her Lady MaisryFrae father and frae mother;An’ they ha’ sought her Lady MaisryFrae sister an’ frae brother.

An’ they ha’ follow’d her Lady MaisryThro’ chamber an’ thro’ ha’;But a’ that they cou’d say to her,Her answer still was Na.

‘O haud your tongues, young men,’ she says,‘An’ think nae mair o’ me;For I’ve gi’en my love to an English lord,An’ think nae mair o’ me.’

Her father’s kitchy-boy heard that,An ill death may he dee!An’ he is on to her brother,As fast as gang cou’d he.

‘O is my father an’ my mother well,But an’ my brothers three?Gin my sister Lady Maisry be well,There’s naething can ail me.’—

‘Your father an’ your mother is well,But an’ your brothers three;Your sister Lady Maisry’s well,So big wi’ bairn gangs she.’

‘Gin this be true you tell to me,My malison light on thee!But gin it be a lie you tell,You sal be hangit hie.’

He’s done him to his sister’s bow’r,Wi’ meikle doole an’ care;An’ there he saw her Lady MaisryKaiming her yellow hair.

‘O wha is aught[455]that bairn,’ he says,‘That ye sae big are wi’?And gin ye winna own the truth,This moment ye sall dee.’

She turn’d her right and roun’ about,An’ the kame fell frae her han’;A trembling seiz’d her fair body,An’ her rosy cheek grew wan.

‘O pardon me, my brother dear,An’ the truth I’ll tell to thee;My bairn it is to Lord William,An’ he is betroth’d to me.’—

‘O cou’d na ye gotten dukes, or lords,Intill your ain country,That ye draw up wi’ an English dog,To bring this shame on me?

‘But ye maun gi’ up the English lord,Whan your young babe is born;For, gin you keep by him an hour langer,Your life sall be forlorn[456].’—

‘I will gi’ up this English blood,Till my young babe be born;But the never a day nor hour langer,Tho’ my life should be forlorn.’—

‘O whare is a’ my merry young men,Whom I gi’ meat and fee,To pu’ the thistle and the thorn,To burn this woman wi’?’—

She turn’d her head on her left shoulder,Saw her girdle hang on a tree;‘O God bless them wha gave me that,They’ll never give more to me.

‘O whare will I get a bonny boy,To help me in my need,To rin wi’ haste to Lord William,And bid him come wi’ speed?’—

O out it spake a bonny boy,Stood by her brother’s side:‘O I would run your errand, lady,O’er a’ the world sae wide.

‘Aft have I run your errands, lady,Whan blawn baith win’ and weet;But now I’ll rin your errand, lady,Wi’ saut tears on my cheek.’

O whan he came to broken briggs,He bent his bow and swam,An’ whan he came to the green grass growin’He slack’d his shoone and ran.

O whan he came to Lord William’s gates,He baed[457]na to chap[458]or ca’,But set his bent bow till his breast,An’ lightly lap’ the wa’;An’, or the porter was at the gate,The boy was i’ the ha’.

‘O is my biggins[459]broken, boy?Or is my towers won?Or is my lady lighter yet,Of a dear daughter or son?’—

‘Your biggin is na broken, sir,Nor is your towers won;But the fairest lady in a’ the landFor you this day maun burn.’—

‘O saddle me the black, the black,Or saddle me the brown;O saddle me the swiftest steedThat ever rade frae a town!’

Or he was near a mile awa’,She heard his wild horse sneeze:‘Mend up the fire, my false brother,It’s na come to my knees.’

O whan he lighted at the gate,She heard his bridle ring;‘Mend up the fire, my false brother,It’s far yet frae my chin.

‘Mend up the fire to me, brother,Mend up the fire to me;For I see him comin’ hard an’ fast,Will soon mend it up to thee.

‘O gin my hands had been loose, Willy,Sae hard as they are boun’,I would have turn’d me frae the gleed[460],And casten out your young son.’—

‘O I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,Your father an’ your mother;An’ I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,Your sister an’ your brother.

‘An’ I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,The chief of a’ your kin;An’ the last bonfire that I come to,Mysel’ I will cast in.’

FOOTNOTES:[455]aught = owed.[456]forlorn = lost to you.[457]baed = abode, tarried.[458]chap = knock.[459]biggins = buildings.[460]gleed = glowing fire, embers.

[455]aught = owed.

[456]forlorn = lost to you.

[457]baed = abode, tarried.

[458]chap = knock.

[459]biggins = buildings.

[460]gleed = glowing fire, embers.

IBy Arthur’s Dale as late I wentI heard a heavy moan;I heard a ladie lamenting sair,And ay she cried ‘Ohone!II‘Ohone, alas! what shall I do,Tormented night and day!I never loved a love but ane,And now he’s gone away.III‘But I will do for my true-loveWhat ladies wou’d think sair;For seven year shall come and goEre a kaim[461]gang in my hair.IV‘There shall neither a shoe gang on my foot,Nor a kaim gang in my hair,Nor e’er a coal nor candle-lightShine in my bower nae mair.’VShe thought her love had been on the sea,Fast sailing to Bee Ho’m;But he was in a quiet cham’er[462],Hearing his ladie’s moan.VI‘Be husht, be husht, my ladie dear,I pray thee mourn not so;For I am deep sworn on a bookTo Bee Ho’m for to go.’VIIShe has gien him a chain of the beaten gowd,And a ring with a ruby stone:‘As lang as this chain your body binds,Your blude can never be drawn.VIII‘But gin this ring shou’d fade or fail,Or the stone shou’d change its hue,Be sure your love is dead and gone,Or she has proved untrue.’IXHe had no been at Bonny Bee Ho’mA twelve month and a day,Till, looking on his gay gowd ring,The stone grew dark and gray.X‘O ye take my riches to Bee Ho’m,And deal them presentlie,To the young that canna, the auld that maunna,And the blind that does not see.XI‘Fight on, fight on, my merry men all!With you I’ll fight no more;But I will gang to some holy placeAnd pray to the King of Glore[463].’

By Arthur’s Dale as late I wentI heard a heavy moan;I heard a ladie lamenting sair,And ay she cried ‘Ohone!

‘Ohone, alas! what shall I do,Tormented night and day!I never loved a love but ane,And now he’s gone away.

‘But I will do for my true-loveWhat ladies wou’d think sair;For seven year shall come and goEre a kaim[461]gang in my hair.

‘There shall neither a shoe gang on my foot,Nor a kaim gang in my hair,Nor e’er a coal nor candle-lightShine in my bower nae mair.’

She thought her love had been on the sea,Fast sailing to Bee Ho’m;But he was in a quiet cham’er[462],Hearing his ladie’s moan.

‘Be husht, be husht, my ladie dear,I pray thee mourn not so;For I am deep sworn on a bookTo Bee Ho’m for to go.’

She has gien him a chain of the beaten gowd,And a ring with a ruby stone:‘As lang as this chain your body binds,Your blude can never be drawn.

‘But gin this ring shou’d fade or fail,Or the stone shou’d change its hue,Be sure your love is dead and gone,Or she has proved untrue.’

He had no been at Bonny Bee Ho’mA twelve month and a day,Till, looking on his gay gowd ring,The stone grew dark and gray.

‘O ye take my riches to Bee Ho’m,And deal them presentlie,To the young that canna, the auld that maunna,And the blind that does not see.

‘Fight on, fight on, my merry men all!With you I’ll fight no more;But I will gang to some holy placeAnd pray to the King of Glore[463].’

FOOTNOTES:[461]kaim = comb.[462]cham’er = chamber.[463]Glore = Glory.

[461]kaim = comb.

[462]cham’er = chamber.

[463]Glore = Glory.

I.The Sailing.IThe king sits in Dunfermline townDrinking the blude-red wine;‘O whare will I get a skeely[464]skipperTo sail this new ship o’ mine?’IIO up and spak an eldern knight,Sat at the king’s right knee:‘Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailorThat ever sail’d the sea.’IIIOur king has written a braid letter,And seal’d it with his hand,And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,Was walking on the strand.IV‘To Noroway, to Noroway,To Noroway o’er the faem;The king’s daughter o’ Noroway,’Tis thou must bring her hame.’VThe first word that Sir Patrick readSo loud, loud laugh’d he;The neist word that Sir Patrick readThe tear blinded his e’e.VI‘O wha is this has done this deedAnd tauld the king o’ me,To send us out, at this time o’ year,To sail upon the sea?VII‘Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,Our ship must sail the faem;The king’s daughter o’ Noroway,’Tis we must fetch her hame.’VIIIThey hoysed their sails on Monenday mornWi’ a’ the speed they may;They hae landed in NorowayUpon a Wodensday.II. The Return.IX‘Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a’!Our gude ship sails the morn.’—‘Now ever alack, my master dear,I fear a deadly storm.X‘I saw the new moon late yestreenWi’ the auld moon in her arm;And if we gang to sea, master,I fear we’ll come to harm.’XIThey hadna sail’d a league, a league,A league but barely three,When the lift[465]grew dark, and the wind blew loud,And gurly grew the sea.XIIThe ankers brak, and the topmast lap[466],It was sic a deadly storm:And the waves cam owre the broken shipTill a’ her sides were torn.XIII‘O where will I get a gude sailorTo tak’ my helm in hand,Till I get up to the tall topmastTo see if I can spy land?’—XIV‘O here am I, a sailor gude,To tak’ the helm in hand,Till you go up to the tall topmast,But I fear you’ll ne’er spy land.’XVHe hadna gane a step, a step,A step but barely ane,When a bolt flew out of our goodly ship,And the saut sea it came in.XVI‘Go fetch a web o’ the silken claith,Another o’ the twine,And wap[467]them into our ship’s side,And let nae the sea come in.’XVIIThey fetch’d a web o’ the silken claith,Another o’ the twine,And they wapp’d them round that gude ship’s side,But still the sea came in.XVIIIO laith, laith were our gude Scots lordsTo wet their cork-heel’d shoon;But lang or a’ the play was play’dThey wat their hats aboon.XIXAnd mony was the feather bedThat flatter’d[468]on the faem;And mony was the gude lord’s sonThat never mair cam hame.XXO lang, lang may the ladies sit,Wi’ their fans into their hand,Before they see Sir Patrick SpensCome sailing to the strand!XXIAnd lang, lang may the maidens sitWi’ their gowd kames[469]in their hair,A-waiting for their ain dear loves!For them they’ll see nae mair.XXIIHalf-owre, half-owre to Aberdour,’Tis fifty fathoms deep;And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet!

The king sits in Dunfermline townDrinking the blude-red wine;‘O whare will I get a skeely[464]skipperTo sail this new ship o’ mine?’

O up and spak an eldern knight,Sat at the king’s right knee:‘Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailorThat ever sail’d the sea.’

Our king has written a braid letter,And seal’d it with his hand,And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,Was walking on the strand.

‘To Noroway, to Noroway,To Noroway o’er the faem;The king’s daughter o’ Noroway,’Tis thou must bring her hame.’

The first word that Sir Patrick readSo loud, loud laugh’d he;The neist word that Sir Patrick readThe tear blinded his e’e.

‘O wha is this has done this deedAnd tauld the king o’ me,To send us out, at this time o’ year,To sail upon the sea?

‘Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,Our ship must sail the faem;The king’s daughter o’ Noroway,’Tis we must fetch her hame.’

They hoysed their sails on Monenday mornWi’ a’ the speed they may;They hae landed in NorowayUpon a Wodensday.

‘Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a’!Our gude ship sails the morn.’—‘Now ever alack, my master dear,I fear a deadly storm.

‘I saw the new moon late yestreenWi’ the auld moon in her arm;And if we gang to sea, master,I fear we’ll come to harm.’

They hadna sail’d a league, a league,A league but barely three,When the lift[465]grew dark, and the wind blew loud,And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmast lap[466],It was sic a deadly storm:And the waves cam owre the broken shipTill a’ her sides were torn.

‘O where will I get a gude sailorTo tak’ my helm in hand,Till I get up to the tall topmastTo see if I can spy land?’—

‘O here am I, a sailor gude,To tak’ the helm in hand,Till you go up to the tall topmast,But I fear you’ll ne’er spy land.’

He hadna gane a step, a step,A step but barely ane,When a bolt flew out of our goodly ship,And the saut sea it came in.

‘Go fetch a web o’ the silken claith,Another o’ the twine,And wap[467]them into our ship’s side,And let nae the sea come in.’

They fetch’d a web o’ the silken claith,Another o’ the twine,And they wapp’d them round that gude ship’s side,But still the sea came in.

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lordsTo wet their cork-heel’d shoon;But lang or a’ the play was play’dThey wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather bedThat flatter’d[468]on the faem;And mony was the gude lord’s sonThat never mair cam hame.

O lang, lang may the ladies sit,Wi’ their fans into their hand,Before they see Sir Patrick SpensCome sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang may the maidens sitWi’ their gowd kames[469]in their hair,A-waiting for their ain dear loves!For them they’ll see nae mair.

Half-owre, half-owre to Aberdour,’Tis fifty fathoms deep;And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet!

FOOTNOTES:[464]skeely = skilful.[465]lift = sky.[466]lap = sprang.[467]wap = wrap.[468]flatter’d = tossed afloat.[469]kames = combs.

[464]skeely = skilful.

[465]lift = sky.

[466]lap = sprang.

[467]wap = wrap.

[468]flatter’d = tossed afloat.

[469]kames = combs.

IIt was the worthy Lord of Lorn,He was a lord of high degree;And he has set his one young sonTo school, to learn civility.IIHe learn’d more learning in one dayThan other children did in three;And then bespake the schoolmaster,Unto the heir of Lorn said he:III‘In faith thou art the honestest boyThat ere I blinkt on with mine e’e;I think thou be some easterling born,The Holy Ghost it is with thee.’IVHe said he was no easterling born,The child thus answer’d courteouslye:‘My father he is the Lord of Lorn,And I his one young son, perdie.’VThe schoolmaster turn’d round about,His angry mind he could not ’swage;He marvell’d the child could speak so wise,He being of so tender age.VIHe girt the saddle to the steed,A golden bridle done him upon;He took his leave of his schoolfellows,And home this Child of Lorn has gone.VIIAnd when he came to his father dearHe kneelèd down upon his knee:‘God’s blessing, father, I would ask,If Christ would grant you to give it me.’—VIII‘Now God thee bless, my son, my heir,His servant in heaven that thou may be!What tidings hast thou brought me, child?Thou art comen home so hastilye.’—IX‘Good tidings, father, I have you brought,Good tidings I hope it is to thee;There’s never a book in all ScotlandBut I can read it truëlye.’XA joyèd man his father wasAll in the place where he did stand:‘My son, thou shalt go into France,To learn the speeches of ilka land.’XI‘Who shall go with him?’ said his lady;‘Husband, we have no more but he.’—‘Madam,’ he saith, ‘my hend[470]steward,For he hath been true to you and me.’XIIShe call’d the steward to an account,A thousand pound she gave him anon;Says, ‘Steward, I’ll give thee as mickle moreIf thou be as good to my one son.’—XIII‘If I be false unto my young lord,Then God be the like to me indeed!’—So now to France they both are gone,And the God [of Heaven] be their good speed!XIVOver the sea into France landThey had not been three weeks to an end,But meat and drink the child got none,Nor penny of money in purse to spend.XVThe child ran to a river’s side;He was fain to drink the water thin;And after follow’d the false stewardTo drown the bonny boy therein.XVI‘But nay, by Mary!’ said the child,He askèd mercy pitifullye;‘Good Steward, let me have my life,And all I have I will give to thee!’XVIIMercy to him the steward did take,And pull’d the child out o’er the brimBut, ever alack, the more pitye!He took his clothing even from him.XVIIISays, ‘Do thou me off that velvet gown,The crimson hose beneath thy knee,And do me off thy cordinant[471]shoonThat are buckled with the gold so free.XIX‘Do thou me off thy satin doublèt,Thy shirtband wrought wi’ glisterin’ gold,And do me off thy golden chainAbout thy neck with many a fold.XX‘And do me off thy velvet hat,With feather in it that is so fine;And all unto thy silken shirt,That’s work’d with many a golden seam.’XXIBut when the child was naked stript,With skin as white as the lily flow’r,He might, for his body and his bewtie,Have been a princess’ paramour.XXIIHe put him in an old kelter[472]coat,And hose of the same above the knee,And he bade him go to a shepherd’s house,To tend sheep on a lonely lee.XXIIIThe child said, ‘What shall be my name?Prithee, good Steward, tell to me.’—‘Thy name shall be Poor Disaware,To tend sheep on a lonely lee.’XXIVThe child came to the shepherd’s house—O Lord! he weepèd pitifullye—Says, ‘Do you not want a servant-boy,To tend your sheep on a lonely lee?’XXV‘I have no child,’ the shepherd said,‘My boy, thou’st tarry and dwell with me;My living, my house, but and my goods,I’ll make thee heir of them all, perdie.’XXVIAnd then bespake the shepherd’s wifeUnto the child so tenderlye:‘Thou must take the sheep and go to the field,And tend them upon the lonely lee.’XXVIINow let us leave talk of the childThat is tending sheep on the lonely lee,And we’ll talk more of the false steward,Of him and of his treacherye.XXVIIIHe bought himself a suit of apparelThat any lord might a-seem’d to worn;He went a-wooing to the Duke’s daughter,And call’d himself the Lord of Lorn.XXIXThe Duke he welcomed the [brisk] young lordWith three baked stags and the Rhenish wine:If he had wist him the false steward,With the devil he’d have bade him dine.XXXBut when they were at supper setWith dainty delicates that was there,The Duke said, ‘If thou’lt wed my daughterI’ll give thee a thousand pound a year.’XXXIThen hand in hand the steward her took,And plight that lady his troth alone,That she should be his married wife,And he would make her the Lady of Lorn.XXXIIThe lady would see the roebuck runUp hills and dales and the forest free,When she was ’ware of a shepherd’s boyWas tending sheep on a lonely lee.XXXIIIAnd ever he sigh’d and made his moan[Unto himself] most pitifullye,‘My father is the Lord of Lorn,And knows not what’s become of me!’XXXIVO then bespake the lady gayAnd to her maid she spake anon,‘Go fetch me hither yon shepherd’s boy:I’ll know why he doth make his moan.’XXXVBut when he came to that lady fairHe fell down low upon his knee;He was [of birth and] so brought upHe needed not to learn courtesye.XXXVI‘What is thy name? Where wast thou born?For whose sake makest thou this moan?’—‘I am Poor Disaware, in Scotland born,And I mourn one dead these years agone.’—XXXVII‘Tell me [of Scotland], thou bonny child,Tell me the truth and do not lee:Knowest thou there the young Lord of Lorn?He is come into France a-wooing of me.’—XXXVIII‘Yes, that I do, madam,’ he said,‘I know that lord, yea, verilye;The Lord of Lorn is a worthy lord,If he were at home in his own countrye.’—XXXIX‘Wilt leave thy sheep, thou bonny child,And come in service unto me?’—‘[I thank you, madam]; yea, forsooth,And at your bidding I will be.’XLWhen the steward look’d upon the childHe ’gan bewrail[473]him villainouslye:‘Where wast thou born, thou vagabone?Thou art a thief, I will prove thee.’XLI‘Ha’ done! ha’ done!’ said the lady gay,‘Peace, Lord of Lorn, I do pray thee!Without you bear him more good will,No favour will you get of me.’XLIIO then bespake the false steward,‘Believe me or no, I tell to thee,At Aberdonie, beyond the seas,His father robbèd thousands three.’XLIIIBut then bespake the Duke of France(The child was pleasant to his e’e),Says, ‘Boy, if thou love horses well,My groom of stables thou shalt be.’XLIVThe child applied his office so wellTill that twelve months drew to an end;He was so courteous and so trueThat every man became his friend.XLVHe led a gelding forth one morning,To water him at the water so free—The gelding up, and with his headHe hit the child above the e’e.XLVI‘Woe worth thee, gelding!’ said the child,‘Woe worth the mare that foalèd thee!Thou little knowest the Lord of Lorn:Thou’st stricken a lord of high degree.’XLVIIThe lady was in her garden green,And heard the child that made this moan:All weeping [straight] she ran to himAnd left her maidens all alone.XLVIII‘Sing on thy song, thou stable groom,I will release thee of thy pain.’—‘Nay, lady, I have made an oath;I dare not tell my tale again.’—XLIX‘Sing on thy song, then, to thy gelding,And so thy oath shall savèd be.’—But when he told his horse the tale,O the lady wept full tenderlye.LShe sent in for her father the Duke:‘O sick I am, and like to dee!Put off my wedding, father,’ she said,‘For the love of God, these monthës three.’LIThe lady she did write a letterFull speedily with her own hand;She has sent it to the Lord of LornWheras he dwelt in fair Scotland.LIIWhen the Lord of Lorn had read the letterHis lady wept, Lord! bitterlye;‘Peace, Lady of Lorn, for Christ his love!And wroken[474]upon him I will be.’LIIIThe old lord call’d up his merry men,And all that he gave cloth and fee,With seven lords to ride beside him,And into the land of France rides he.LIVThe wind was good, and they did sailFive hundred men into France land,Till they were ’ware of the Heir of Lorn,Stood with a porter’s staff in ’s hand.LVThe lords then cast their hats into air,The serving-men fell on their knee.‘What fools be yonder,’ said the steward,‘That makes the porter courtesye?’LVI‘Thou’rt a false thief,’ said the Lord of Lorn,‘[This child, thy master] to betray!’And they set the castle round about,A swallow could not have flown away.LVIIAnd when they had taken the false steward,By the law of France all hastilyeA quest of lords there chosen wasThat judged this traitor he must dee.LVIIIFirst they took him and hang’d him half,And then they lat him down anon,And quarter’d and put him in boiling lead,And there he was sodden, breast and bone.LIXO then bespake the Lord of Lorn,With many other lordës mo,‘Sir Duke, if you be as willing as we,We’ll have a marriage before we go.’LXBut then bespake the Duke of France,Unto the Child of Lorn right there:Says, ‘Heir of Lorn, if thou’lt marry my daughter,I’ll mend thy living a thousand a year.’LXIBut then bespake that Child of Lorn,And answer’d the Duke right merrilye:‘I had rather have her with a ring of goldThan all the gold you can proffer to me.’

It was the worthy Lord of Lorn,He was a lord of high degree;And he has set his one young sonTo school, to learn civility.

He learn’d more learning in one dayThan other children did in three;And then bespake the schoolmaster,Unto the heir of Lorn said he:

‘In faith thou art the honestest boyThat ere I blinkt on with mine e’e;I think thou be some easterling born,The Holy Ghost it is with thee.’

He said he was no easterling born,The child thus answer’d courteouslye:‘My father he is the Lord of Lorn,And I his one young son, perdie.’

The schoolmaster turn’d round about,His angry mind he could not ’swage;He marvell’d the child could speak so wise,He being of so tender age.

He girt the saddle to the steed,A golden bridle done him upon;He took his leave of his schoolfellows,And home this Child of Lorn has gone.

And when he came to his father dearHe kneelèd down upon his knee:‘God’s blessing, father, I would ask,If Christ would grant you to give it me.’—

‘Now God thee bless, my son, my heir,His servant in heaven that thou may be!What tidings hast thou brought me, child?Thou art comen home so hastilye.’—

‘Good tidings, father, I have you brought,Good tidings I hope it is to thee;There’s never a book in all ScotlandBut I can read it truëlye.’

A joyèd man his father wasAll in the place where he did stand:‘My son, thou shalt go into France,To learn the speeches of ilka land.’

‘Who shall go with him?’ said his lady;‘Husband, we have no more but he.’—‘Madam,’ he saith, ‘my hend[470]steward,For he hath been true to you and me.’

She call’d the steward to an account,A thousand pound she gave him anon;Says, ‘Steward, I’ll give thee as mickle moreIf thou be as good to my one son.’—

‘If I be false unto my young lord,Then God be the like to me indeed!’—So now to France they both are gone,And the God [of Heaven] be their good speed!

Over the sea into France landThey had not been three weeks to an end,But meat and drink the child got none,Nor penny of money in purse to spend.

The child ran to a river’s side;He was fain to drink the water thin;And after follow’d the false stewardTo drown the bonny boy therein.

‘But nay, by Mary!’ said the child,He askèd mercy pitifullye;‘Good Steward, let me have my life,And all I have I will give to thee!’

Mercy to him the steward did take,And pull’d the child out o’er the brimBut, ever alack, the more pitye!He took his clothing even from him.

Says, ‘Do thou me off that velvet gown,The crimson hose beneath thy knee,And do me off thy cordinant[471]shoonThat are buckled with the gold so free.

‘Do thou me off thy satin doublèt,Thy shirtband wrought wi’ glisterin’ gold,And do me off thy golden chainAbout thy neck with many a fold.

‘And do me off thy velvet hat,With feather in it that is so fine;And all unto thy silken shirt,That’s work’d with many a golden seam.’

But when the child was naked stript,With skin as white as the lily flow’r,He might, for his body and his bewtie,Have been a princess’ paramour.

He put him in an old kelter[472]coat,And hose of the same above the knee,And he bade him go to a shepherd’s house,To tend sheep on a lonely lee.

The child said, ‘What shall be my name?Prithee, good Steward, tell to me.’—‘Thy name shall be Poor Disaware,To tend sheep on a lonely lee.’

The child came to the shepherd’s house—O Lord! he weepèd pitifullye—Says, ‘Do you not want a servant-boy,To tend your sheep on a lonely lee?’

‘I have no child,’ the shepherd said,‘My boy, thou’st tarry and dwell with me;My living, my house, but and my goods,I’ll make thee heir of them all, perdie.’

And then bespake the shepherd’s wifeUnto the child so tenderlye:‘Thou must take the sheep and go to the field,And tend them upon the lonely lee.’

Now let us leave talk of the childThat is tending sheep on the lonely lee,And we’ll talk more of the false steward,Of him and of his treacherye.

He bought himself a suit of apparelThat any lord might a-seem’d to worn;He went a-wooing to the Duke’s daughter,And call’d himself the Lord of Lorn.

The Duke he welcomed the [brisk] young lordWith three baked stags and the Rhenish wine:If he had wist him the false steward,With the devil he’d have bade him dine.

But when they were at supper setWith dainty delicates that was there,The Duke said, ‘If thou’lt wed my daughterI’ll give thee a thousand pound a year.’

Then hand in hand the steward her took,And plight that lady his troth alone,That she should be his married wife,And he would make her the Lady of Lorn.

The lady would see the roebuck runUp hills and dales and the forest free,When she was ’ware of a shepherd’s boyWas tending sheep on a lonely lee.

And ever he sigh’d and made his moan[Unto himself] most pitifullye,‘My father is the Lord of Lorn,And knows not what’s become of me!’

O then bespake the lady gayAnd to her maid she spake anon,‘Go fetch me hither yon shepherd’s boy:I’ll know why he doth make his moan.’

But when he came to that lady fairHe fell down low upon his knee;He was [of birth and] so brought upHe needed not to learn courtesye.

‘What is thy name? Where wast thou born?For whose sake makest thou this moan?’—‘I am Poor Disaware, in Scotland born,And I mourn one dead these years agone.’—

‘Tell me [of Scotland], thou bonny child,Tell me the truth and do not lee:Knowest thou there the young Lord of Lorn?He is come into France a-wooing of me.’—

‘Yes, that I do, madam,’ he said,‘I know that lord, yea, verilye;The Lord of Lorn is a worthy lord,If he were at home in his own countrye.’—

‘Wilt leave thy sheep, thou bonny child,And come in service unto me?’—‘[I thank you, madam]; yea, forsooth,And at your bidding I will be.’

When the steward look’d upon the childHe ’gan bewrail[473]him villainouslye:‘Where wast thou born, thou vagabone?Thou art a thief, I will prove thee.’

‘Ha’ done! ha’ done!’ said the lady gay,‘Peace, Lord of Lorn, I do pray thee!Without you bear him more good will,No favour will you get of me.’

O then bespake the false steward,‘Believe me or no, I tell to thee,At Aberdonie, beyond the seas,His father robbèd thousands three.’

But then bespake the Duke of France(The child was pleasant to his e’e),Says, ‘Boy, if thou love horses well,My groom of stables thou shalt be.’

The child applied his office so wellTill that twelve months drew to an end;He was so courteous and so trueThat every man became his friend.

He led a gelding forth one morning,To water him at the water so free—The gelding up, and with his headHe hit the child above the e’e.

‘Woe worth thee, gelding!’ said the child,‘Woe worth the mare that foalèd thee!Thou little knowest the Lord of Lorn:Thou’st stricken a lord of high degree.’

The lady was in her garden green,And heard the child that made this moan:All weeping [straight] she ran to himAnd left her maidens all alone.

‘Sing on thy song, thou stable groom,I will release thee of thy pain.’—‘Nay, lady, I have made an oath;I dare not tell my tale again.’—

‘Sing on thy song, then, to thy gelding,And so thy oath shall savèd be.’—But when he told his horse the tale,O the lady wept full tenderlye.

She sent in for her father the Duke:‘O sick I am, and like to dee!Put off my wedding, father,’ she said,‘For the love of God, these monthës three.’

The lady she did write a letterFull speedily with her own hand;She has sent it to the Lord of LornWheras he dwelt in fair Scotland.

When the Lord of Lorn had read the letterHis lady wept, Lord! bitterlye;‘Peace, Lady of Lorn, for Christ his love!And wroken[474]upon him I will be.’

The old lord call’d up his merry men,And all that he gave cloth and fee,With seven lords to ride beside him,And into the land of France rides he.

The wind was good, and they did sailFive hundred men into France land,Till they were ’ware of the Heir of Lorn,Stood with a porter’s staff in ’s hand.

The lords then cast their hats into air,The serving-men fell on their knee.‘What fools be yonder,’ said the steward,‘That makes the porter courtesye?’

‘Thou’rt a false thief,’ said the Lord of Lorn,‘[This child, thy master] to betray!’And they set the castle round about,A swallow could not have flown away.

And when they had taken the false steward,By the law of France all hastilyeA quest of lords there chosen wasThat judged this traitor he must dee.

First they took him and hang’d him half,And then they lat him down anon,And quarter’d and put him in boiling lead,And there he was sodden, breast and bone.

O then bespake the Lord of Lorn,With many other lordës mo,‘Sir Duke, if you be as willing as we,We’ll have a marriage before we go.’

But then bespake the Duke of France,Unto the Child of Lorn right there:Says, ‘Heir of Lorn, if thou’lt marry my daughter,I’ll mend thy living a thousand a year.’

But then bespake that Child of Lorn,And answer’d the Duke right merrilye:‘I had rather have her with a ring of goldThan all the gold you can proffer to me.’

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