FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[1273]row’d = wrapped.[1274]lax = relief.

[1273]row’d = wrapped.

[1274]lax = relief.

IThere cam’ seven Egyptians on a day,And wow, but they sang bonny!And they sang sae sweet, and sae very complete,Down cam’ Earl Cassilis’ lady.IIShe cam’ tripping down the stair,And a’ her maids before her;As soon as they saw her weel-faur’d faceThey cast the glamourie owre her.IIIThey gave to her the nutmeg,And they gave to her the ginger;But she gave to them a far better thing,The seven gold rings off her fingers.IVAnd when the Earl he did come home,Enquiring for his ladie,One of the servants made this reply,‘She’s awa’ with the gypsie laddie.’V‘Come saddle for me the brown,’ he said,‘For the black was ne’er so speedy,And I will travel night and dayTill I find out my wanton ladie.’VI‘Will you come home, my dear?’ he said,‘Oh will you come home, my honey?And by the point of my broad sword,A hand I’ll ne’er lay on you.’...VII‘Yestreen I rade this water deep,And my own gude lord beside me;But this night I maun wet my little pretty feetWith a wheen blackguards to wade me.VIII‘Yestreen I lay on a good feather-bed,And my own wedded lord beyond me,And to-night I’ll lie in the ash-corner,With the gypsies all around me.IX‘They took off my high-heeled shoes,That were made of Spanish leather,And I have put on coarse Lowland brogues,To trip it o’er the heather.X‘The Earl of Cassilis is lying sick;Not one hair I’m sorry;I’d rather have a kiss from Johnny Faa’s lipsThan all his gold and his money.’

There cam’ seven Egyptians on a day,And wow, but they sang bonny!And they sang sae sweet, and sae very complete,Down cam’ Earl Cassilis’ lady.

She cam’ tripping down the stair,And a’ her maids before her;As soon as they saw her weel-faur’d faceThey cast the glamourie owre her.

They gave to her the nutmeg,And they gave to her the ginger;But she gave to them a far better thing,The seven gold rings off her fingers.

And when the Earl he did come home,Enquiring for his ladie,One of the servants made this reply,‘She’s awa’ with the gypsie laddie.’

‘Come saddle for me the brown,’ he said,‘For the black was ne’er so speedy,And I will travel night and dayTill I find out my wanton ladie.’

‘Will you come home, my dear?’ he said,‘Oh will you come home, my honey?And by the point of my broad sword,A hand I’ll ne’er lay on you.’...

‘Yestreen I rade this water deep,And my own gude lord beside me;But this night I maun wet my little pretty feetWith a wheen blackguards to wade me.

‘Yestreen I lay on a good feather-bed,And my own wedded lord beyond me,And to-night I’ll lie in the ash-corner,With the gypsies all around me.

‘They took off my high-heeled shoes,That were made of Spanish leather,And I have put on coarse Lowland brogues,To trip it o’er the heather.

‘The Earl of Cassilis is lying sick;Not one hair I’m sorry;I’d rather have a kiss from Johnny Faa’s lipsThan all his gold and his money.’

IInverey cam’ doun Deeside, whistlin’ and playin’;He was at brave Brackley’s yates ere it was dawin’[1275].IISays, ‘Baron of Brackley, are ye within?There’s sharp swords at your yate will gar your blood spin.III‘Open the yate, Brackley, let us within,Till on the green turf we gar your blood spin.’IVThe lady rase up, to the window she went;She heard the kye lowin’ o’er hill and o’er bent.V‘O rise up, John,’ she says, ‘turn back your kye;They’re o’er the hills rinnin’, they’re skippin awye!’—VI‘Come to bed, Peggie, and let the kye rin:For were I to gang out, I’d never get in.VII‘For there is na gentlemen, nor yet pretty lads,But a curn[1276]o’ hired widdifu’s[1277], wears belted plaids.’VIIIThen she cry’d on her women, they quickly came ben:‘Tak’ up your rocks, lasses, and fight a’ like men!IX‘Tho’ I’m but a woman, to head you I’ll try,Nor let these vile Hielandmen steal a’ our kye.’XThen up gat the Baron and cry’d for his graith[1278];Says, ‘Lady, I’ll gang, tho’ to leave you I’m laith.XI‘Come kiss me, my Peggie, and get me my gun;For I well may gang out, but I’ll never win in.’XIIWhen the Baron of Brackley he rade thro’ the close,A gallanter gentleman ne’er mounted horse.XIIITho’ there cam’ in with Inverey thirty and three,There was nane wi’ bold Brackley but his brither and he.XIVTwa gallanter Gordons did never sword draw:But against four and thirty, wae’s me, what was twa?XVWi’ swords and wi’ daggers they did him surround,And they’ve pierced the bold Brackley wi’ mony a wound.XVIFrae the head o’ the Dee to the banks o’ the SpeyThe Gordons may mourn him and ban Inverey.XVII‘O cam’ ye in by Brackley, and was ye in there?Or saw ye his Peggy dear riving[1279]her hair?’—XVIII‘O I cam’ by Brackley, and I was in there,But I saw-na his Peggy dear riving her hair.’—XIX‘O fye on ye, ladye! how could ye do sae?You open’d your yate[1280]to the fause Inverey.’XXShe ate wi’ him, drank wi’ him, welcomed him in;She’s welcomed the villain that slew her Baròn.XXIShe kept him till morning, syne bade him be gane,And show’d him the road that he wouldna be ta’en.XXII‘Thro’ Bires and Aboyne,’ she says, ‘lyin’ in a tourO’er the hills o’ Glentanor ye’ll skip in an hour.’XXIIIThere is dule in the kitchen, and mirth in the ha’,For the Baron of Brackley is dead and awa’.XXIVBut and up spak’ the babe on his nourice’s knee—‘Gin I live to be man, it’s revenged I will be.’

Inverey cam’ doun Deeside, whistlin’ and playin’;He was at brave Brackley’s yates ere it was dawin’[1275].

Says, ‘Baron of Brackley, are ye within?There’s sharp swords at your yate will gar your blood spin.

‘Open the yate, Brackley, let us within,Till on the green turf we gar your blood spin.’

The lady rase up, to the window she went;She heard the kye lowin’ o’er hill and o’er bent.

‘O rise up, John,’ she says, ‘turn back your kye;They’re o’er the hills rinnin’, they’re skippin awye!’—

‘Come to bed, Peggie, and let the kye rin:For were I to gang out, I’d never get in.

‘For there is na gentlemen, nor yet pretty lads,But a curn[1276]o’ hired widdifu’s[1277], wears belted plaids.’

Then she cry’d on her women, they quickly came ben:‘Tak’ up your rocks, lasses, and fight a’ like men!

‘Tho’ I’m but a woman, to head you I’ll try,Nor let these vile Hielandmen steal a’ our kye.’

Then up gat the Baron and cry’d for his graith[1278];Says, ‘Lady, I’ll gang, tho’ to leave you I’m laith.

‘Come kiss me, my Peggie, and get me my gun;For I well may gang out, but I’ll never win in.’

When the Baron of Brackley he rade thro’ the close,A gallanter gentleman ne’er mounted horse.

Tho’ there cam’ in with Inverey thirty and three,There was nane wi’ bold Brackley but his brither and he.

Twa gallanter Gordons did never sword draw:But against four and thirty, wae’s me, what was twa?

Wi’ swords and wi’ daggers they did him surround,And they’ve pierced the bold Brackley wi’ mony a wound.

Frae the head o’ the Dee to the banks o’ the SpeyThe Gordons may mourn him and ban Inverey.

‘O cam’ ye in by Brackley, and was ye in there?Or saw ye his Peggy dear riving[1279]her hair?’—

‘O I cam’ by Brackley, and I was in there,But I saw-na his Peggy dear riving her hair.’—

‘O fye on ye, ladye! how could ye do sae?You open’d your yate[1280]to the fause Inverey.’

She ate wi’ him, drank wi’ him, welcomed him in;She’s welcomed the villain that slew her Baròn.

She kept him till morning, syne bade him be gane,And show’d him the road that he wouldna be ta’en.

‘Thro’ Bires and Aboyne,’ she says, ‘lyin’ in a tourO’er the hills o’ Glentanor ye’ll skip in an hour.’

There is dule in the kitchen, and mirth in the ha’,For the Baron of Brackley is dead and awa’.

But and up spak’ the babe on his nourice’s knee—‘Gin I live to be man, it’s revenged I will be.’

FOOTNOTES:[1275]dawin’ = dawn.[1276]curn = pack.[1277]widdifu’s = gallows-birds, fit to fill a ‘widdie’ or halter.[1278]graith = harness, arms.[1279]riving = tearing.[1280]yate = gate.

[1275]dawin’ = dawn.

[1276]curn = pack.

[1277]widdifu’s = gallows-birds, fit to fill a ‘widdie’ or halter.

[1278]graith = harness, arms.

[1279]riving = tearing.

[1280]yate = gate.

ILate at een, drinkin’ the wine,And ere they paid the lawin’[1281],They set a combat them between,To fight it in the dawin’.II‘O stay at hame, my noble lord!O stay at hame, my marrow[1282]!My cruel brother will you betray,On the dowie[1283]houms[1284]o’ Yarrow.’—III‘O fare ye weel, my lady gay!O fare ye weel, my Sarah!For I maun gae, tho’ I ne’er returnFrae the dowie banks o’ Yarrow.’IVShe kiss’d his cheek, she kamed his hair,As she had done before, O;She belted on his noble brand,An’ he’s awa to Yarrow.VO he’s gane up yon high, high hill—I wat he gaed wi’ sorrow—An’ in a den spied nine arm’d men,I’ the dowie houms o’ Yarrow.VI‘O are ye come to drink the wine,As ye hae doon before, O?Or are ye come to wield the brand,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow?’—VII‘I am no come to drink the wine,As I hae done before, O,But I am come to wield the brand,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow.’VIIIFour he hurt an’ five he slew,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow,Till that stubborn knight came him behind,An’ ran his body thorrow.IX‘Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,An’ tell your sister SarahTo come an’ lift her noble lord,Who’s sleepin’ sound on Yarrow.’X‘Yestreen I dream’d a dolefu’ dream;I ken’d there wad be sorrow;I dream’d I pu’d the heather green,On the dowie banks o’ Yarrow.’XIShe gaed up yon high, high hill—I wat she gaed wi’ sorrow—An’ in a den spied nine dead men,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow.XIIShe kiss’d his cheek, she kamed his hair,As oft she did before, O;She drank the red blood frae him ran,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow.XIII‘O haud your tongue, my douchter dear,For what needs a’ this sorrow?I’ll wed you on a better lordThan him you lost on Yarrow.’—XIV‘O haud your tongue, my father dear,An’ dinna grieve your Sarah;A better lord was never bornThan him I lost on Yarrow.XV‘Tak hame your ousen[1285], tak hame your kye,For they hae bred our sorrow;I wiss that they had a’ gane madWhan they cam’ first to Yarrow.’

Late at een, drinkin’ the wine,And ere they paid the lawin’[1281],They set a combat them between,To fight it in the dawin’.

‘O stay at hame, my noble lord!O stay at hame, my marrow[1282]!My cruel brother will you betray,On the dowie[1283]houms[1284]o’ Yarrow.’—

‘O fare ye weel, my lady gay!O fare ye weel, my Sarah!For I maun gae, tho’ I ne’er returnFrae the dowie banks o’ Yarrow.’

She kiss’d his cheek, she kamed his hair,As she had done before, O;She belted on his noble brand,An’ he’s awa to Yarrow.

O he’s gane up yon high, high hill—I wat he gaed wi’ sorrow—An’ in a den spied nine arm’d men,I’ the dowie houms o’ Yarrow.

‘O are ye come to drink the wine,As ye hae doon before, O?Or are ye come to wield the brand,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow?’—

‘I am no come to drink the wine,As I hae done before, O,But I am come to wield the brand,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow.’

Four he hurt an’ five he slew,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow,Till that stubborn knight came him behind,An’ ran his body thorrow.

‘Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,An’ tell your sister SarahTo come an’ lift her noble lord,Who’s sleepin’ sound on Yarrow.’

‘Yestreen I dream’d a dolefu’ dream;I ken’d there wad be sorrow;I dream’d I pu’d the heather green,On the dowie banks o’ Yarrow.’

She gaed up yon high, high hill—I wat she gaed wi’ sorrow—An’ in a den spied nine dead men,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow.

She kiss’d his cheek, she kamed his hair,As oft she did before, O;She drank the red blood frae him ran,On the dowie houms o’ Yarrow.

‘O haud your tongue, my douchter dear,For what needs a’ this sorrow?I’ll wed you on a better lordThan him you lost on Yarrow.’—

‘O haud your tongue, my father dear,An’ dinna grieve your Sarah;A better lord was never bornThan him I lost on Yarrow.

‘Tak hame your ousen[1285], tak hame your kye,For they hae bred our sorrow;I wiss that they had a’ gane madWhan they cam’ first to Yarrow.’

FOOTNOTES:[1281]lawin’ = reckoning.[1282]marrow = married mate.[1283]dowie = doleful.[1284]houms = water-meads.[1285]ousen = oxen.

[1281]lawin’ = reckoning.

[1282]marrow = married mate.

[1283]dowie = doleful.

[1284]houms = water-meads.

[1285]ousen = oxen.

I‘Adieu, madame, my mother dear,But and my sisters three!Adieu, fair Robert of Orchardstane!My heart is wae for thee.II‘Adieu, the lily and the rose,The primrose fair to see;Adieu, my ladye, and only joy!For I may not stay with thee.III‘Though I hae slain the Lord Johnstone,What care I for their feid?My noble mind does still incline—He was my father’s deid[1286].IV‘Both night and day I labour’d oftOf him avenged to be;But now I’ve got what lang I soughtAnd I may not stay with thee.V‘Adieu! Drumlanrig, false wert aye,And Closeburn in a band!The Laird of Lag, frae my father that fled,When the Johnstone struck aff his hand.VI‘They were three brethren in a band—Joy may they never see!Their treacherous art, and cowardly heart,Has twined[1287]my love and me.VII‘Adieu! Dumfries, my proper place,But and Carlaverock fair!Adieu! my castle of the Thrieve,Wi’ a’ my buildings there!VIII‘Adieu! Lochmaben’s gate sae fair,And Langholm, where birks there be;Adieu! my ladye, and only joy,For I may not stay wi’ thee.IX‘Adieu! Fair Eskdale up and down,Where my puir friends do dwell;The bangisters[1288]will ding them down,And will them sair compell.X‘But I’ll avenge their feid mysell,When I come o’er the sea;Adieu! my ladye, and only joyFor I may not stay wi’ thee.’—XI‘Lord of the land, will you go thenUnto my father’s place,And walk into their gardens green,And I will you embrace.XII‘There Hamiltons, and Douglas baith,Shall rise to succour thee.’—‘Thanks for thy kindness, fair my dame,But I may not stay wi’ thee.’—XIIIThen he tuik aff a gay gold ring,Thereat hang signets three;‘Hae, tak thee that, mine ain kind thing,And still hae mind o’ me!XIV‘But if thou take another lord,Ere I come ower the sea,His life is but a three days’ lease,Though I may not stay wi’ thee.’XVThe wind was fair, the ship was clear,That good lord went away;And most part of his friends were there,To give him a fair convey.XVIThey drank the wine, they didna spareEven in that gude lord’s sight—Sae now he’s o’er the floods sae gray,And Lord Maxwell has ta’en his Goodnight.

‘Adieu, madame, my mother dear,But and my sisters three!Adieu, fair Robert of Orchardstane!My heart is wae for thee.

‘Adieu, the lily and the rose,The primrose fair to see;Adieu, my ladye, and only joy!For I may not stay with thee.

‘Though I hae slain the Lord Johnstone,What care I for their feid?My noble mind does still incline—He was my father’s deid[1286].

‘Both night and day I labour’d oftOf him avenged to be;But now I’ve got what lang I soughtAnd I may not stay with thee.

‘Adieu! Drumlanrig, false wert aye,And Closeburn in a band!The Laird of Lag, frae my father that fled,When the Johnstone struck aff his hand.

‘They were three brethren in a band—Joy may they never see!Their treacherous art, and cowardly heart,Has twined[1287]my love and me.

‘Adieu! Dumfries, my proper place,But and Carlaverock fair!Adieu! my castle of the Thrieve,Wi’ a’ my buildings there!

‘Adieu! Lochmaben’s gate sae fair,And Langholm, where birks there be;Adieu! my ladye, and only joy,For I may not stay wi’ thee.

‘Adieu! Fair Eskdale up and down,Where my puir friends do dwell;The bangisters[1288]will ding them down,And will them sair compell.

‘But I’ll avenge their feid mysell,When I come o’er the sea;Adieu! my ladye, and only joyFor I may not stay wi’ thee.’—

‘Lord of the land, will you go thenUnto my father’s place,And walk into their gardens green,And I will you embrace.

‘There Hamiltons, and Douglas baith,Shall rise to succour thee.’—‘Thanks for thy kindness, fair my dame,But I may not stay wi’ thee.’—

Then he tuik aff a gay gold ring,Thereat hang signets three;‘Hae, tak thee that, mine ain kind thing,And still hae mind o’ me!

‘But if thou take another lord,Ere I come ower the sea,His life is but a three days’ lease,Though I may not stay wi’ thee.’

The wind was fair, the ship was clear,That good lord went away;And most part of his friends were there,To give him a fair convey.

They drank the wine, they didna spareEven in that gude lord’s sight—Sae now he’s o’er the floods sae gray,And Lord Maxwell has ta’en his Goodnight.

FOOTNOTES:[1286]my father’s deid = the death of my father.[1287]twined = parted.[1288]bangisters = lawless folk.

[1286]my father’s deid = the death of my father.

[1287]twined = parted.

[1288]bangisters = lawless folk.

II wish I were where Helen lies,Night and day on me she cries;O that I were where Helen lies,On fair Kirconnell lea!IICurst be the heart that thought the thought,And curst the hand that fired the shot,When in my arms burd Helen dropt,And died to succour me!IIIO think na ye my heart was sair,When my Love dropp’d and spak nae mair!There did she swoon wi’ meikle care,On fair Kirconnell lea.IVAs I went down the water side,None but my foe to be my guide,None but my foe to be my guide,On fair Kirconnell lea;VI lighted down my sword to draw,I hackèd him in pieces sma’,I hackèd him in pieces sma’,For her sake that died for me.VIO Helen fair, beyond compare!I’ll mak a garland o’ thy hair,Shall bind my heart for evermair,Until the day I dee!VIIO that I were where Helen lies!Night and day on me she cries;Out of my bed she bids me rise,Says, ‘Haste, and come to me!’VIIIO Helen fair! O Helen chaste!If I were with thee, I’d be blest,Where thou lies low and taks thy rest,On fair Kirconnell lea.IXI wish my grave were growing green,A winding-sheet drawn owre my een,And I in Helen’s arms lying,On fair Kirconnell lea.XI wish I were where Helen lies!Night and day on me she cries;And I am weary of the skies,For her sake that died for me.

I wish I were where Helen lies,Night and day on me she cries;O that I were where Helen lies,On fair Kirconnell lea!

Curst be the heart that thought the thought,And curst the hand that fired the shot,When in my arms burd Helen dropt,And died to succour me!

O think na ye my heart was sair,When my Love dropp’d and spak nae mair!There did she swoon wi’ meikle care,On fair Kirconnell lea.

As I went down the water side,None but my foe to be my guide,None but my foe to be my guide,On fair Kirconnell lea;

I lighted down my sword to draw,I hackèd him in pieces sma’,I hackèd him in pieces sma’,For her sake that died for me.

O Helen fair, beyond compare!I’ll mak a garland o’ thy hair,Shall bind my heart for evermair,Until the day I dee!

O that I were where Helen lies!Night and day on me she cries;Out of my bed she bids me rise,Says, ‘Haste, and come to me!’

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!If I were with thee, I’d be blest,Where thou lies low and taks thy rest,On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish my grave were growing green,A winding-sheet drawn owre my een,And I in Helen’s arms lying,On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish I were where Helen lies!Night and day on me she cries;And I am weary of the skies,For her sake that died for me.

IMy love he built me a bonny bower,And clad it a’ wi’ lilye flour;A brawer bower ye ne’er did see,Than my true love he built for me.IIThere came a man, by middle day,He spied his sport, and went away;And brought the King that very night,Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.IIIHe slew my knight, to me sae dear;He slew my knight, and poin’d[1289]his gear;My servants all for life did flee,And left me in extremitie.IVI sew’d his sheet, making my mane;I watch’d the corpse, myself alane;I watch’d his body, night and day;No living creature came that way.VI took his body on my back,And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;I digg’d a grave, and laid him in,And happ’d him with the sod sae green.VIBut think na ye my heart was sair,When I laid the moul’ on his yellow hair;O think na ye my heart was wae,When I turn’d about, away to gae?VIINae living man I’ll love again,Since that my lovely knight is slain;Wi’ ae lock of his yellow hairI’ll chain my heart for evermair.

My love he built me a bonny bower,And clad it a’ wi’ lilye flour;A brawer bower ye ne’er did see,Than my true love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day,He spied his sport, and went away;And brought the King that very night,Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight, to me sae dear;He slew my knight, and poin’d[1289]his gear;My servants all for life did flee,And left me in extremitie.

I sew’d his sheet, making my mane;I watch’d the corpse, myself alane;I watch’d his body, night and day;No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;I digg’d a grave, and laid him in,And happ’d him with the sod sae green.

But think na ye my heart was sair,When I laid the moul’ on his yellow hair;O think na ye my heart was wae,When I turn’d about, away to gae?

Nae living man I’ll love again,Since that my lovely knight is slain;Wi’ ae lock of his yellow hairI’ll chain my heart for evermair.

FOOTNOTES:[1289]poin’d = made forfeit.

[1289]poin’d = made forfeit.

ILady Alice was sitting in her bower-window,Mending her midnight quoif,And there she saw as fine a corpseAs ever she saw in her life.II‘What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall?What bear ye on your shouldèrs?’—‘We bear the corpse of Giles Collins,An old and true lover of yours.’—III‘O lay him down gently, ye six men tall,All on the grass so green,And to-morrow, when the sun goes down,Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen.IV‘And bury me in Saint Mary’s church,All for my love so true,And make me a garland of marjoram,And of lemon-thyme, and rue.’VGiles Collins was buried all in the east,Lady Alice all in the west,And the roses that grew on Giles Collins’s grave,They reached Lady Alice’s breast.VIThe priest of the parish he chanced to pass,And he sever’d those roses in twain;Sure never were seen such true lovers before,Nor e’er will there be again.

Lady Alice was sitting in her bower-window,Mending her midnight quoif,And there she saw as fine a corpseAs ever she saw in her life.

‘What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall?What bear ye on your shouldèrs?’—‘We bear the corpse of Giles Collins,An old and true lover of yours.’—

‘O lay him down gently, ye six men tall,All on the grass so green,And to-morrow, when the sun goes down,Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen.

‘And bury me in Saint Mary’s church,All for my love so true,And make me a garland of marjoram,And of lemon-thyme, and rue.’

Giles Collins was buried all in the east,Lady Alice all in the west,And the roses that grew on Giles Collins’s grave,They reached Lady Alice’s breast.

The priest of the parish he chanced to pass,And he sever’d those roses in twain;Sure never were seen such true lovers before,Nor e’er will there be again.

ILord Lovel he stood at his castle-gate,Combing his milk-white steed,When up came Lady Nancy Belle,To wish her lover good speed.II‘Where are you going, Lord Lovel?’ she said,‘Oh where are you going?’ said she.‘I’m going, my Lady Nancy Belle,Strange countries for to see.’III‘When will you be back, Lord Lovel?’ she said,‘Oh when will you come back?’ said she.‘In a year, or two, or three at the most,I’ll return to my fair Nancỳ.’IVBut he had not been gone a year and a day,Strange countries for to see,When languishing thoughts came into his head,Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.VSo he rode, and he rode, on his milk-white steed,Till he came to London town,And there he heard St. Pancras’ bells,And the people all mourning round.VI‘Oh what is the matter?’ Lord Lovel he said,‘Oh what is the matter?’ said he;‘A lord’s lady is dead,’ a woman replied,‘And some call her Lady Nancỳ.’VIISo he order’d the grave to be open’d wide.And the shroud he turnèd down,And there he kiss’d her clay-cold lips,Till the tears came trickling down.VIIILady Nancy she died, as it might be, today,Lord Lovel he died as tomorrow;Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.IXLady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras’ Church,Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,And out of her lover’s a briar.XThey grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple top,And then they could grow no higher;So there they entwined in a true-lovers’ knot,For all lovers true to admire.

Lord Lovel he stood at his castle-gate,Combing his milk-white steed,When up came Lady Nancy Belle,To wish her lover good speed.

‘Where are you going, Lord Lovel?’ she said,‘Oh where are you going?’ said she.‘I’m going, my Lady Nancy Belle,Strange countries for to see.’

‘When will you be back, Lord Lovel?’ she said,‘Oh when will you come back?’ said she.‘In a year, or two, or three at the most,I’ll return to my fair Nancỳ.’

But he had not been gone a year and a day,Strange countries for to see,When languishing thoughts came into his head,Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.

So he rode, and he rode, on his milk-white steed,Till he came to London town,And there he heard St. Pancras’ bells,And the people all mourning round.

‘Oh what is the matter?’ Lord Lovel he said,‘Oh what is the matter?’ said he;‘A lord’s lady is dead,’ a woman replied,‘And some call her Lady Nancỳ.’

So he order’d the grave to be open’d wide.And the shroud he turnèd down,And there he kiss’d her clay-cold lips,Till the tears came trickling down.

Lady Nancy she died, as it might be, today,Lord Lovel he died as tomorrow;Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.

Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras’ Church,Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,And out of her lover’s a briar.

They grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple top,And then they could grow no higher;So there they entwined in a true-lovers’ knot,For all lovers true to admire.

IAll the trees they are so high,The leaves they are so green,The day is past and gone, sweet-heart,That you and I have seen.It is cold winter’s night,You and I must bide alone:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.IIIn a garden as I walked,I heard them laugh and call;There were four and twenty playing there,They played with bat and ball.O the rain on the roof,Here and I must make my moan:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.IIII listen’d in the garden,I lookèd o’er the wall;‘Midst five and twenty gallants thereMy love exceeded all.O the wind on the thatch,Here and I alone must weep:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.IVO father, father dear,Great wrong to me is done.That I should married be this day,Before the set of sun.At the huffle of the gale,Here I toss and cannot sleep:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.VMy daughter, daughter dear,If better be, more fit,I’ll send him to the court awhile,To point his pretty wit.But the snow, snowflakes fall,O and I am chill as dead:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.VITo let the lovely ladies knowThey may not touch and taste,I’ll bind a bunch of ribbons redAbout his little waist.But the raven hoarsely croaks,And I shiver in my bed;Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.VIII married was, alas,A lady high to be,In court and stall and stately hall,And bower of tapestry.But the bell did only knell,And I shuddered as one cold:When I wed the pretty ladNot done growing.VIIIAt fourteen he wedded was,A father at fifteen,At sixteen ’s face was white as milk,And then his grave was green;And the daisies were outspread,And buttercups of gold,O’er my pretty lad so youngNow ceased growing.

All the trees they are so high,The leaves they are so green,The day is past and gone, sweet-heart,That you and I have seen.It is cold winter’s night,You and I must bide alone:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.

In a garden as I walked,I heard them laugh and call;There were four and twenty playing there,They played with bat and ball.O the rain on the roof,Here and I must make my moan:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.

I listen’d in the garden,I lookèd o’er the wall;‘Midst five and twenty gallants thereMy love exceeded all.O the wind on the thatch,Here and I alone must weep:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.

O father, father dear,Great wrong to me is done.That I should married be this day,Before the set of sun.At the huffle of the gale,Here I toss and cannot sleep:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.

My daughter, daughter dear,If better be, more fit,I’ll send him to the court awhile,To point his pretty wit.But the snow, snowflakes fall,O and I am chill as dead:Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.

To let the lovely ladies knowThey may not touch and taste,I’ll bind a bunch of ribbons redAbout his little waist.But the raven hoarsely croaks,And I shiver in my bed;Whilst my pretty lad is youngAnd is growing.

I married was, alas,A lady high to be,In court and stall and stately hall,And bower of tapestry.But the bell did only knell,And I shuddered as one cold:When I wed the pretty ladNot done growing.

At fourteen he wedded was,A father at fifteen,At sixteen ’s face was white as milk,And then his grave was green;And the daisies were outspread,And buttercups of gold,O’er my pretty lad so youngNow ceased growing.

I‘I am as brown as brown can be,My eyes as black as a sloe;I am as brisk as a nightingale,And as wild as any doe.II‘My love has sent me a love-letter,Not far from yonder town,That he could not fancy me,Because I was so brown.III‘I sent him his letter back again,For his love I valu’d not,Whether that he could fancy meOr whether he could not.IV‘He sent me his letter back again,That he lay sick to death,That I might then go speedilyTo give him up his faith.’VNow you shall hear what love she hadThen for this love-sick man;She was a whole long summer’s dayIn a mile a going on.VIWhen she came to her love’s bed-side,Where he lay dangerous sick,She could not for laughing standUpright upon her feet.VIIShe had a white wand all in her hand,And smooth’d it all on his breast;‘In faith and troth come pardon me,I hope your soul’s at rest.’—VIII‘Prithee,’ said he, ‘forget, forget,Prithee forget, forgive;O grant me yet a little space,That I may be well and live.’—IX‘O never will I forget, forgive,So long as I have breath;I’ll dance above your green, green graveWhere you do lie beneath.X‘I’ll do as much for my true-loveAs other maidens may;I’ll dance and sing on my love’s graveA whole twelvemonth and a day.’

‘I am as brown as brown can be,My eyes as black as a sloe;I am as brisk as a nightingale,And as wild as any doe.

‘My love has sent me a love-letter,Not far from yonder town,That he could not fancy me,Because I was so brown.

‘I sent him his letter back again,For his love I valu’d not,Whether that he could fancy meOr whether he could not.

‘He sent me his letter back again,That he lay sick to death,That I might then go speedilyTo give him up his faith.’

Now you shall hear what love she hadThen for this love-sick man;She was a whole long summer’s dayIn a mile a going on.

When she came to her love’s bed-side,Where he lay dangerous sick,She could not for laughing standUpright upon her feet.

She had a white wand all in her hand,And smooth’d it all on his breast;‘In faith and troth come pardon me,I hope your soul’s at rest.’—

‘Prithee,’ said he, ‘forget, forget,Prithee forget, forgive;O grant me yet a little space,That I may be well and live.’—

‘O never will I forget, forgive,So long as I have breath;I’ll dance above your green, green graveWhere you do lie beneath.

‘I’ll do as much for my true-loveAs other maidens may;I’ll dance and sing on my love’s graveA whole twelvemonth and a day.’

IIn Scarlet town, where I was born,There was a fair maid dwellin’,Made every youth cryWell-a-way!Her name was Barbara Allen.IIAll in the merry month of May,When green buds they were swellin’,Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,For love of Barbara Allen.IIIHe sent his man in to her then,To the town where she was dwellin’‘O haste and come to my master dear,If your name be Barbara Allen.’IVSo slowly, slowly rase she up,And slowly she came nigh him,And when she drew the curtain by—‘Young man, I think you’re dyin’.’V‘O it’s I am sick and very very sick,And it’s all for Barbara Allen.’—‘O the better for me ye’se never be,Tho’ your heart’s blood were a-spillin’!VI‘O dinna ye mind, young man,’ says she,‘When the red wine ye were fillin’,That ye made the healths go round and round,And slighted Barbara Allen?’VIIHe turn’d his face unto the wall,And death was with him dealin’:‘Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,And be kind to Barbara Allen!’VIIIAs she was walking o’er the fields,She heard the dead-bell knellin’;And every jow[1290]the dead-bell gaveCried ‘Woe to Barbara Allen.’IX‘O mother, mother, make my bed,O make it saft and narrow:My love has died for me to-day,I’ll die for him to-morrow.X‘Farewell,’ she said, ‘ye virgins all,And shun the fault I fell in:Henceforth take warning by the fallOf cruel Barbara Allen.’

In Scarlet town, where I was born,There was a fair maid dwellin’,Made every youth cryWell-a-way!Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,When green buds they were swellin’,Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man in to her then,To the town where she was dwellin’‘O haste and come to my master dear,If your name be Barbara Allen.’

So slowly, slowly rase she up,And slowly she came nigh him,And when she drew the curtain by—‘Young man, I think you’re dyin’.’

‘O it’s I am sick and very very sick,And it’s all for Barbara Allen.’—‘O the better for me ye’se never be,Tho’ your heart’s blood were a-spillin’!

‘O dinna ye mind, young man,’ says she,‘When the red wine ye were fillin’,That ye made the healths go round and round,And slighted Barbara Allen?’

He turn’d his face unto the wall,And death was with him dealin’:‘Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,And be kind to Barbara Allen!’

As she was walking o’er the fields,She heard the dead-bell knellin’;And every jow[1290]the dead-bell gaveCried ‘Woe to Barbara Allen.’

‘O mother, mother, make my bed,O make it saft and narrow:My love has died for me to-day,I’ll die for him to-morrow.

‘Farewell,’ she said, ‘ye virgins all,And shun the fault I fell in:Henceforth take warning by the fallOf cruel Barbara Allen.’

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