FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[279]tide = time, season.[280]lee-lang = live-long.[281]yett = gate.[282]all-by-dene = all together.[283]glent = gleam.

[279]tide = time, season.

[280]lee-lang = live-long.

[281]yett = gate.

[282]all-by-dene = all together.

[283]glent = gleam.

I‘Rise up, rise up, now Lord Douglas,’ she says,‘And put on your armour so bright;Let it never be said that a daughter of thineWas married to a lord under night.II‘Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,And put on your armour so bright,And take better care of your youngest sister,For your eldest’s awa the last night.’IIIHe’s mounted her on a milk-white steed,And himself on a dapple grey,With a bugelet horn hung down his side;And lightly they rode away.IVLord William look’d o’er his left shoulder,To see what he could see,And there he spy’d her seven brethren boldCome riding over the lea.V‘Light down, light down, Lady Margret,’ he said,‘And hold my steed in your hand,Until that against your seven brethren bold,And your father, I mak’ a stand.’VIO, there she stood, and bitter she stood,And never did shed one tear,Until that she saw her seven brethren fa’,And her father, who lov’d her so dear.VII‘O hold your hand, Lord William!’ she said,‘For your strokes they are wondrous sair;True lovers I can get many an ane,But a father I can never get mair.’VIIIO she’s ta’en out her handkerchief,It was o’ the holland sae fine,And aye she dighted[284]her father’s wounds,That were redder than the wine.IX‘O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret,’ he said,‘O whether will ye gang or bide?’‘I’ll gang, I’ll gang, Lord William,’ she said,‘For ye’ve left me no other guide.’XHe’s lifted her on a milk-white steed,And himself on a dapple grey,With a bugelet horn hung down by his side;And slowly they baith rade away.XIO they rade on, and on they rade,And a’ by the light of the moon,Until they came to yon wan water,And there they lighted doun.XIIThey lighted doun to tak’ a drinkOf the spring that ran sae clear,And doun the stream ran his gude heart’s blood,And sair she gan to fear.XIII‘Hold up, hold up, Lord William,’ she says,‘For I fear that you are slain.’—‘’Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,That shines in the water sae plain.’XIVO they rade on, and on they rade,And a’ by the light of the moon,Until they cam’ to his mother’s ha’ door,And there they lighted doun.XV‘Get up, get up, lady mother,’ he says,‘Get up, and let me in!Get up, get up, lady mother,’ he says,‘For this night my fair lady I’ve win.XVI‘O mak my bed, lady mother,’ he says,‘O mak it braid and deep,And lay Lady Margret close at my back,And the sounder I will sleep.’XVIILord William was dead lang ere midnight,Lady Margret lang ere day,And all true lovers that go thegither,May they have mair luck than they!XVIIILord William was buried in St. Mary’s kirk,Lady Margret in Mary’s quire;Out o’ the lady’s grave grew a bonny red rose,And out o’ the knight’s a brier.XIXAnd they twa met, and they twa plat[285],And fain they wad be near;And a’ the warld might ken right weelThey were twa lovers dear.XXBut bye and rade the Black Douglas,And wow but he was rough!For he pull’d up the bonny brier,And flang ’t in St. Mary’s Lough.

‘Rise up, rise up, now Lord Douglas,’ she says,‘And put on your armour so bright;Let it never be said that a daughter of thineWas married to a lord under night.

‘Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,And put on your armour so bright,And take better care of your youngest sister,For your eldest’s awa the last night.’

He’s mounted her on a milk-white steed,And himself on a dapple grey,With a bugelet horn hung down his side;And lightly they rode away.

Lord William look’d o’er his left shoulder,To see what he could see,And there he spy’d her seven brethren boldCome riding over the lea.

‘Light down, light down, Lady Margret,’ he said,‘And hold my steed in your hand,Until that against your seven brethren bold,And your father, I mak’ a stand.’

O, there she stood, and bitter she stood,And never did shed one tear,Until that she saw her seven brethren fa’,And her father, who lov’d her so dear.

‘O hold your hand, Lord William!’ she said,‘For your strokes they are wondrous sair;True lovers I can get many an ane,But a father I can never get mair.’

O she’s ta’en out her handkerchief,It was o’ the holland sae fine,And aye she dighted[284]her father’s wounds,That were redder than the wine.

‘O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret,’ he said,‘O whether will ye gang or bide?’‘I’ll gang, I’ll gang, Lord William,’ she said,‘For ye’ve left me no other guide.’

He’s lifted her on a milk-white steed,And himself on a dapple grey,With a bugelet horn hung down by his side;And slowly they baith rade away.

O they rade on, and on they rade,And a’ by the light of the moon,Until they came to yon wan water,And there they lighted doun.

They lighted doun to tak’ a drinkOf the spring that ran sae clear,And doun the stream ran his gude heart’s blood,And sair she gan to fear.

‘Hold up, hold up, Lord William,’ she says,‘For I fear that you are slain.’—‘’Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,That shines in the water sae plain.’

O they rade on, and on they rade,And a’ by the light of the moon,Until they cam’ to his mother’s ha’ door,And there they lighted doun.

‘Get up, get up, lady mother,’ he says,‘Get up, and let me in!Get up, get up, lady mother,’ he says,‘For this night my fair lady I’ve win.

‘O mak my bed, lady mother,’ he says,‘O mak it braid and deep,And lay Lady Margret close at my back,And the sounder I will sleep.’

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,Lady Margret lang ere day,And all true lovers that go thegither,May they have mair luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St. Mary’s kirk,Lady Margret in Mary’s quire;Out o’ the lady’s grave grew a bonny red rose,And out o’ the knight’s a brier.

And they twa met, and they twa plat[285],And fain they wad be near;And a’ the warld might ken right weelThey were twa lovers dear.

But bye and rade the Black Douglas,And wow but he was rough!For he pull’d up the bonny brier,And flang ’t in St. Mary’s Lough.

FOOTNOTES:[284]dighted = dressed.[285]plat = pleated.

[284]dighted = dressed.

[285]plat = pleated.

IGlasgerion was a King’s own son,And a harper he was good;He harpèd in the King’s chamberWhere cup and candle stood,And so did he in the Queen’s chamber,Till ladies waxèd wood[286].IIAnd then bespake the King’s daughterAnd these words thus said she:[‘There’s never a stroke comes over this harp,But it glads the heart of me.’]IIISaid, ‘Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,Of thy striking do not blin[287];There’s never a stroke comes over thine harpBut it glads my heart within.’IV‘Fair might you fall, lady,’ quoth he;‘Who taught you now to speak?I have loved you, lady, seven year;My heart I durst ne’er break.’—V‘But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,When all men are at rest;As I am a lady true of my promise,Thou shalt be a welcome guest.’VIBut home then came Glasgerion,A glad man, Lord, was he!‘And come thou hither, Jack, my boy,Come hither unto me.VII‘For the King’s daughter of NormandyeHer love is granted me;And before the cock have crowenAt her chamber must I be.’VIII‘But come you hither, master,’ quoth he,‘Lay your head down on this stone;For I will waken you, master dear,Afore it be time to gone.’IXBut up then rose that lither[288]lad,And did on hose and shoon;A collar he cast upon his neck,He seemèd a gentleman.XAnd when he came to that lady’s chamberHe tirl’d[289]upon a pin;The lady was true of her promise,Rose up and let him in.XIHe did not kiss that lady gayWhen he came nor when he yode[290];And sore mistrusted that lady gayHe was of some churle’s blood.XIIBut home then came that lither lad,And did off his hose and shoon,And cast that collar from ’bout his neck;He was but a churlè’s son:‘Awaken,’ quoth he, ‘my master dear,I hold it time to be gone.XIII‘For I have saddled your horse, master,Well bridled I have your steed;Have not I served a good breakfastWhen time comes I have need?’XIVBut up then rose good Glasgerion,And did on both hose and shoon,And cast a collar about his neck;He was a Kingé’s son.XVAnd when he came to that lady’s chamber,He tirl’d upon a pin;The lady was more than true of her promise,Rose up, and let him in.XVISays, ‘Whether have you left with meYour bracelet or your glove?Or are you back return’d againTo know more of my love?’XVIIGlasgerion swore a full great oathBy oak and ash and thorn,‘Lady, I was never in your chamberSith the time that I was born.’—XVIII‘O then it was your little foot-pageFalsely hath beguiled me’:And then she pull’d forth a little pen-knifeThat hangèd by her knee,Says, ‘There shall never no churlè’s bloodSpring within my bodye.’XIXBut home then went Glasgerion,A woe man, Lord, was he;Sayes, ‘Come hither, thou Jack, my boy,Come thou hither to me.XX‘For if I had kill’d a man to-night,Jack, I would tell it thee,But if I have not kill’d a man to-night,Jack, thou hast killéd three!’XXIAnd he pull’d out his bright brown sword,And dried it on his sleeve,And he smote off that lither lad’s headAnd ask’d no man no leave.XXIIHe set the sword’s point till his breast,The pommel till a stone;Through the falseness of that lither ladThese three lives wern all gone.

Glasgerion was a King’s own son,And a harper he was good;He harpèd in the King’s chamberWhere cup and candle stood,And so did he in the Queen’s chamber,Till ladies waxèd wood[286].

And then bespake the King’s daughterAnd these words thus said she:[‘There’s never a stroke comes over this harp,But it glads the heart of me.’]

Said, ‘Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,Of thy striking do not blin[287];There’s never a stroke comes over thine harpBut it glads my heart within.’

‘Fair might you fall, lady,’ quoth he;‘Who taught you now to speak?I have loved you, lady, seven year;My heart I durst ne’er break.’—

‘But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,When all men are at rest;As I am a lady true of my promise,Thou shalt be a welcome guest.’

But home then came Glasgerion,A glad man, Lord, was he!‘And come thou hither, Jack, my boy,Come hither unto me.

‘For the King’s daughter of NormandyeHer love is granted me;And before the cock have crowenAt her chamber must I be.’

‘But come you hither, master,’ quoth he,‘Lay your head down on this stone;For I will waken you, master dear,Afore it be time to gone.’

But up then rose that lither[288]lad,And did on hose and shoon;A collar he cast upon his neck,He seemèd a gentleman.

And when he came to that lady’s chamberHe tirl’d[289]upon a pin;The lady was true of her promise,Rose up and let him in.

He did not kiss that lady gayWhen he came nor when he yode[290];And sore mistrusted that lady gayHe was of some churle’s blood.

But home then came that lither lad,And did off his hose and shoon,And cast that collar from ’bout his neck;He was but a churlè’s son:‘Awaken,’ quoth he, ‘my master dear,I hold it time to be gone.

‘For I have saddled your horse, master,Well bridled I have your steed;Have not I served a good breakfastWhen time comes I have need?’

But up then rose good Glasgerion,And did on both hose and shoon,And cast a collar about his neck;He was a Kingé’s son.

And when he came to that lady’s chamber,He tirl’d upon a pin;The lady was more than true of her promise,Rose up, and let him in.

Says, ‘Whether have you left with meYour bracelet or your glove?Or are you back return’d againTo know more of my love?’

Glasgerion swore a full great oathBy oak and ash and thorn,‘Lady, I was never in your chamberSith the time that I was born.’—

‘O then it was your little foot-pageFalsely hath beguiled me’:And then she pull’d forth a little pen-knifeThat hangèd by her knee,Says, ‘There shall never no churlè’s bloodSpring within my bodye.’

But home then went Glasgerion,A woe man, Lord, was he;Sayes, ‘Come hither, thou Jack, my boy,Come thou hither to me.

‘For if I had kill’d a man to-night,Jack, I would tell it thee,But if I have not kill’d a man to-night,Jack, thou hast killéd three!’

And he pull’d out his bright brown sword,And dried it on his sleeve,And he smote off that lither lad’s headAnd ask’d no man no leave.

He set the sword’s point till his breast,The pommel till a stone;Through the falseness of that lither ladThese three lives wern all gone.

FOOTNOTES:[286]wood = crazy, wild with delight.[287]blin = stint, cease.[288]lither = rascally, vile.[289]tirl’d = rattled.[290]yode = went.

[286]wood = crazy, wild with delight.

[287]blin = stint, cease.

[288]lither = rascally, vile.

[289]tirl’d = rattled.

[290]yode = went.

IHearken to me, gentlemen,Come and you shall heare;Ile tell you of two of the boldest bretherThat ever bornè were.IIThe tone of them was Adler Younge,The tother was Kyng Estmere;They were as bolde men in their deedsAs any were, farr and neare.IIIAs they were drinking ale and wineWithin his brother’s hall,‘When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,A wyfe to glad us all?’IVThen bespake him Kyng Estmere,And answered him hartilye:‘I know not that ladye in any land,That’s able to marrye with mee.’—V‘Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,Men call her bright and sheene;If I were kyng here in your stead,That ladye shold be my queene.’—VISaies, ‘Reade me, reade me, deare brother,Throughout merry England,Where we might find a messengerBetwixt us towe to sende.’—VIISaies, ‘You shal ryde yourselfe, brother,Ile beare you companye;Many a man throughe fals messengers is deceived,And I feare lest soe shold wee.’VIIIThus they renisht[291]them to ryde,Of twoe good renisht steeds,And when they came to Kyng Adland’s halle,Of redd gold shone their weeds[292].IXAnd when they came to Kyng Adland’s halle,Before the goodlye gate,There they found good Kyng AdlandRearing[293]himselfe theratt.X‘Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland;Now Christ you save and see.’—Sayd, ‘You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,Right hartilye to mee.’XI‘You have a daughter,’ said Adler Younge,‘Men call her bright and sheene;My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,Of Englande to be queene.’—XII‘Yesterday was att my deere daughterKyng Bremor his sonne of Spayn,And then she nickèd[294]him of naye,And I doubt sheele do you the same.’—XIII‘The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,And ’lieveth on Mahound,And pitye it were that fayre ladyeShold marry a heathen hound.XIV‘But grant to me,’ sayes Kyng Estmere,‘For my love I you praye,That I may see your daughter deereBefore I goe hence awaye.’—XV‘Although itt is seven yeers and moreSince my daughter was in halle,She shall come once downe for your sake,To glad my guestès alle.’XVIDowne then came that mayden fayre,With ladyes laced in pall[295],And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,To bring her from bowre to hall,And as many gentle squiers,To tend upon them all.XVIIThe talents of golde were on her head setteHanged low downe to her knee,And everye ring on her small fingerShone of the chrystall free.XVIIISaies, ‘God you save, my deere madam,’Saies, ‘God you save and see!’—Said, ‘You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,Right welcome unto mee.XIX‘And, if you love me, as you saye,Soe well and hartilee,All that ever you are comen aboutSoone sped now itt shal bee.’XXThen bespake her father deare:‘My daughter, I saye naye;Remember well the Kyng of Spayne,What he sayd yesterdaye.XXI‘He wold pull downe my halles and castles,And reave me of my lyfe;I cannot blame him if he doe,If I reave him of his wyfe.’—XXII‘Your castles and your towres, father,Are stronglye built aboute,And therefore of the Kyng his sonne of SpaineWee neede not stande in doubt.XXIII‘Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere,By heaven and your righte hand,That you will marrye me to your wyfe,And make me queene of your land.’XXIVThen Kyng Estmere he plight his troth,By heaven and his righte hand,That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,And make her queene of his land.XXVAnd he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,To goe to his owne countree,To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,That marryed they might bee.XXVIThey had not ridden scant a myle,A myle forthe of the towne,But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,With kempès[296]many one.XXVIIBut in did come the Kyng of Spayne,With manye a bold barone,Tone day to marrye Kyng Adland’s daughter,Tother daye to carrye her home.XXVIIIShee sent one after Kyng Estmere,In all the spede might bee,That he must either turne againe and fighte,Or goe home and loose his ladye.XXIXOne whyle then the page he went,Another while he ranne;Till he had oretaken Kyng Estmere,I-wis he never blanne[297].XXX‘Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere!’—‘What tydings nowe, my boye?’—‘O tydinges I can tell to you,That will you sore annoye.XXXI‘You had not ridden scant a mile,A mile out of the towne,But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,With kempès many a one:XXXII‘But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,With manye a bold barone,Tone daye to marrye Kyng Adland’s daughter,Tother daye to carry her home.XXXIII‘My ladye fayre she greetes you well,And ever-more well by mee;You must either turne againe and fighte,Or goe home and loose your ladye.’—XXXIVSaies, ‘Reade me, reade me, deere brother,My reade shall ryse[298]at thee;Whether it is better to turne and fighte,Or goe home and loose my ladye.’XXXV‘Now hearken to me,’ sayes Adler Yonge,‘And your reade must rise at me;I quicklye will devise a wayeTo sette thy ladye free.XXXVI‘My mother was a westerne woman,And learned in gramarye,And when I learnèd at the schole,Something shee taught itt mee.XXXVII‘There growes an hearbe within this field,And iff it were but knowne,His color, which is whyte and redd,It will make blacke and browne.XXXVIII‘His color, which is browne and blacke,Itt will make redd and whyte;That sworde is not in all EnglandeUpon his coate will byte.XXXIX‘And you shal be a harper, brother,Out of the north countrye,And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte,And beare your harpe by your knee.XL‘And you shal be the best harperThat ever tooke harpe in hand,And I wil be the best singerThat ever sung in this lande.XLI‘Itt shal be written in our forheads,All and in grammarye,That we towe are the boldest menThat are in all Christentye.’XLIIAnd thus they renisht them to ryde,Of tow good renisht steedes,And when they came to Kyng Adland’s halle,Of redd gold shone their weedes.XLIIIAnd whan they came to Kyng Adland’s halleUntill the fayre hall yate[299],There they found a proud portèr,Rearing himselfe thereatt.XLIVSayes, ‘Christ thee save, thou proud porter,’Sayes, ‘Christ thee save and see!’—‘Nowe you be welcome,’ sayd the porter,‘Of what land soever ye bee.’XLV‘Wee beenè harpers,’ sayd Adler Younge,‘Come out of the northe countrye;Wee beenè come hither untill this placeThis proud weddinge for to see.’—XLVISayd, ‘And your color were white and redd,As it is blacke and browne,I wold saye Kyng Estmere and his brotherWere comen untill this towne.’XLVIIThen they pulled out a ryng of gold,Layd itt on the porter’s arme:‘And ever we will thee, proud portèr,Thow wilt saye us no harme.’XLVIIISore he looked on Kyng Estmere,And sore he handled the ryng,Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,He lett for no kind of thyng.XLIXKyng Estmere he stabled his steedeSoe fayre att the hall-bord;The froth that came from his brydle bitteLight in Kyng Bremor’s beard.LSaies, ‘Stable thy steed, thou proud harpèr,’Saies, ‘Stable him in the stalle;It doth not beseeme a proud harpèrTo stable his steed in a kyng’s halle.’LI‘My ladde he is so lither[300],’ he said,‘He will doe nought that’s meete;And is there any man in this hallWere able him to beate?’LII‘Thou speakst proud words,’ sayes the Kyng of Spaine,‘Thou harper, here to mee;There is a man within this halleWill beate thy ladd and thee.’—LIII‘O let that man come downe,’ he said,‘A sight of him wold I see;And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,Then he shall beate of mee.’LIVDowne then came the kemperye man,And lookèd him in the eare;For all the gold that was under heaven,He durst not neigh[301]him neare.LV‘And how nowe, kempe,’ said the Kyng of Spaine,‘And how, what aileth thee?’—He saies, ‘It is writt in his forhead,All and in gramarye,That for all the gold that is under heaven,I dare not neigh him nye.’LVIThen Kyng Estmere pull’d forth his harpe,And play’d a pretty thinge;The ladye upstart from the borde,And wold have gone from the king.LVII‘Stay thy harpe, thou proud harpèr,For God’s love I pray thee;For and thou playes as thou beginns,Thou’lt till[302]my bryde from mee.’LVIIIHe stroake upon his harpe againe,And play’d a pretty thinge;The ladye lough a loud laughter,As shee sate by the king.LIXSaies, ‘Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harpèr,And thy stringës all;For as many gold nobles thou shall have,As heere bee ringes in the hall.’LX‘What wold ye doe with my harpe,’ he sayd,‘If I did sell itt yee?’—‘To playe my wiffe and me a fitt[303],When abed together wee bee.’LXI‘Now sell me,’ quoth hee, ‘thy bryde soe gay,As shee sitts by thy knee;And as many gold nobles I will giveAs leaves been on a tree.’LXII‘And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,Iff I did sell her thee?More seemelye it is for her fayre bodyeTo lye by mee then thee.’LXIIIHee played agayne both loud and shrille,And Adler he did syng,‘O ladye, this is thy owne true love,Noe harper, but a kyng.LXIV‘O Ladye, this is thy owne true love,As playnlye thou mayest see,And Ile rid thee of that foule paynimWho partes thy love and thee.’LXVThe ladye looked, the ladye blushte,And blushte and lookt agayne,While Adler he hath drawne his brande,And hath the Sowdan slayne.LXVIUp then rose the kemperye men,And loud they gan to crye:‘Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,And therefore yee shall dye.’LXVIIKyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,And swith[304]he drew his brand,And Estmere he and Adler YongeRight stiffe in stour[305]can stand.LXVIIIAnd aye their swordes soe sore can byte,Throughe help of gramarye,That soone they have slayne the kempery men,Or forst them forth to flee.LXIXKyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye,And marryed her to his wiffe,And brought her home to merry England,With her to lead his life.

Hearken to me, gentlemen,Come and you shall heare;Ile tell you of two of the boldest bretherThat ever bornè were.

The tone of them was Adler Younge,The tother was Kyng Estmere;They were as bolde men in their deedsAs any were, farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wineWithin his brother’s hall,‘When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,A wyfe to glad us all?’

Then bespake him Kyng Estmere,And answered him hartilye:‘I know not that ladye in any land,That’s able to marrye with mee.’—

‘Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,Men call her bright and sheene;If I were kyng here in your stead,That ladye shold be my queene.’—

Saies, ‘Reade me, reade me, deare brother,Throughout merry England,Where we might find a messengerBetwixt us towe to sende.’—

Saies, ‘You shal ryde yourselfe, brother,Ile beare you companye;Many a man throughe fals messengers is deceived,And I feare lest soe shold wee.’

Thus they renisht[291]them to ryde,Of twoe good renisht steeds,And when they came to Kyng Adland’s halle,Of redd gold shone their weeds[292].

And when they came to Kyng Adland’s halle,Before the goodlye gate,There they found good Kyng AdlandRearing[293]himselfe theratt.

‘Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland;Now Christ you save and see.’—Sayd, ‘You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,Right hartilye to mee.’

‘You have a daughter,’ said Adler Younge,‘Men call her bright and sheene;My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,Of Englande to be queene.’—

‘Yesterday was att my deere daughterKyng Bremor his sonne of Spayn,And then she nickèd[294]him of naye,And I doubt sheele do you the same.’—

‘The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,And ’lieveth on Mahound,And pitye it were that fayre ladyeShold marry a heathen hound.

‘But grant to me,’ sayes Kyng Estmere,‘For my love I you praye,That I may see your daughter deereBefore I goe hence awaye.’—

‘Although itt is seven yeers and moreSince my daughter was in halle,She shall come once downe for your sake,To glad my guestès alle.’

Downe then came that mayden fayre,With ladyes laced in pall[295],And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,To bring her from bowre to hall,And as many gentle squiers,To tend upon them all.

The talents of golde were on her head setteHanged low downe to her knee,And everye ring on her small fingerShone of the chrystall free.

Saies, ‘God you save, my deere madam,’Saies, ‘God you save and see!’—Said, ‘You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,Right welcome unto mee.

‘And, if you love me, as you saye,Soe well and hartilee,All that ever you are comen aboutSoone sped now itt shal bee.’

Then bespake her father deare:‘My daughter, I saye naye;Remember well the Kyng of Spayne,What he sayd yesterdaye.

‘He wold pull downe my halles and castles,And reave me of my lyfe;I cannot blame him if he doe,If I reave him of his wyfe.’—

‘Your castles and your towres, father,Are stronglye built aboute,And therefore of the Kyng his sonne of SpaineWee neede not stande in doubt.

‘Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere,By heaven and your righte hand,That you will marrye me to your wyfe,And make me queene of your land.’

Then Kyng Estmere he plight his troth,By heaven and his righte hand,That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,And make her queene of his land.

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,To goe to his owne countree,To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,That marryed they might bee.

They had not ridden scant a myle,A myle forthe of the towne,But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,With kempès[296]many one.

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,With manye a bold barone,Tone day to marrye Kyng Adland’s daughter,Tother daye to carrye her home.

Shee sent one after Kyng Estmere,In all the spede might bee,That he must either turne againe and fighte,Or goe home and loose his ladye.

One whyle then the page he went,Another while he ranne;Till he had oretaken Kyng Estmere,I-wis he never blanne[297].

‘Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere!’—‘What tydings nowe, my boye?’—‘O tydinges I can tell to you,That will you sore annoye.

‘You had not ridden scant a mile,A mile out of the towne,But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,With kempès many a one:

‘But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,With manye a bold barone,Tone daye to marrye Kyng Adland’s daughter,Tother daye to carry her home.

‘My ladye fayre she greetes you well,And ever-more well by mee;You must either turne againe and fighte,Or goe home and loose your ladye.’—

Saies, ‘Reade me, reade me, deere brother,My reade shall ryse[298]at thee;Whether it is better to turne and fighte,Or goe home and loose my ladye.’

‘Now hearken to me,’ sayes Adler Yonge,‘And your reade must rise at me;I quicklye will devise a wayeTo sette thy ladye free.

‘My mother was a westerne woman,And learned in gramarye,And when I learnèd at the schole,Something shee taught itt mee.

‘There growes an hearbe within this field,And iff it were but knowne,His color, which is whyte and redd,It will make blacke and browne.

‘His color, which is browne and blacke,Itt will make redd and whyte;That sworde is not in all EnglandeUpon his coate will byte.

‘And you shal be a harper, brother,Out of the north countrye,And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte,And beare your harpe by your knee.

‘And you shal be the best harperThat ever tooke harpe in hand,And I wil be the best singerThat ever sung in this lande.

‘Itt shal be written in our forheads,All and in grammarye,That we towe are the boldest menThat are in all Christentye.’

And thus they renisht them to ryde,Of tow good renisht steedes,And when they came to Kyng Adland’s halle,Of redd gold shone their weedes.

And whan they came to Kyng Adland’s halleUntill the fayre hall yate[299],There they found a proud portèr,Rearing himselfe thereatt.

Sayes, ‘Christ thee save, thou proud porter,’Sayes, ‘Christ thee save and see!’—‘Nowe you be welcome,’ sayd the porter,‘Of what land soever ye bee.’

‘Wee beenè harpers,’ sayd Adler Younge,‘Come out of the northe countrye;Wee beenè come hither untill this placeThis proud weddinge for to see.’—

Sayd, ‘And your color were white and redd,As it is blacke and browne,I wold saye Kyng Estmere and his brotherWere comen untill this towne.’

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,Layd itt on the porter’s arme:‘And ever we will thee, proud portèr,Thow wilt saye us no harme.’

Sore he looked on Kyng Estmere,And sore he handled the ryng,Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,He lett for no kind of thyng.

Kyng Estmere he stabled his steedeSoe fayre att the hall-bord;The froth that came from his brydle bitteLight in Kyng Bremor’s beard.

Saies, ‘Stable thy steed, thou proud harpèr,’Saies, ‘Stable him in the stalle;It doth not beseeme a proud harpèrTo stable his steed in a kyng’s halle.’

‘My ladde he is so lither[300],’ he said,‘He will doe nought that’s meete;And is there any man in this hallWere able him to beate?’

‘Thou speakst proud words,’ sayes the Kyng of Spaine,‘Thou harper, here to mee;There is a man within this halleWill beate thy ladd and thee.’—

‘O let that man come downe,’ he said,‘A sight of him wold I see;And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,Then he shall beate of mee.’

Downe then came the kemperye man,And lookèd him in the eare;For all the gold that was under heaven,He durst not neigh[301]him neare.

‘And how nowe, kempe,’ said the Kyng of Spaine,‘And how, what aileth thee?’—He saies, ‘It is writt in his forhead,All and in gramarye,That for all the gold that is under heaven,I dare not neigh him nye.’

Then Kyng Estmere pull’d forth his harpe,And play’d a pretty thinge;The ladye upstart from the borde,And wold have gone from the king.

‘Stay thy harpe, thou proud harpèr,For God’s love I pray thee;For and thou playes as thou beginns,Thou’lt till[302]my bryde from mee.’

He stroake upon his harpe againe,And play’d a pretty thinge;The ladye lough a loud laughter,As shee sate by the king.

Saies, ‘Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harpèr,And thy stringës all;For as many gold nobles thou shall have,As heere bee ringes in the hall.’

‘What wold ye doe with my harpe,’ he sayd,‘If I did sell itt yee?’—‘To playe my wiffe and me a fitt[303],When abed together wee bee.’

‘Now sell me,’ quoth hee, ‘thy bryde soe gay,As shee sitts by thy knee;And as many gold nobles I will giveAs leaves been on a tree.’

‘And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,Iff I did sell her thee?More seemelye it is for her fayre bodyeTo lye by mee then thee.’

Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,And Adler he did syng,‘O ladye, this is thy owne true love,Noe harper, but a kyng.

‘O Ladye, this is thy owne true love,As playnlye thou mayest see,And Ile rid thee of that foule paynimWho partes thy love and thee.’

The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,And blushte and lookt agayne,While Adler he hath drawne his brande,And hath the Sowdan slayne.

Up then rose the kemperye men,And loud they gan to crye:‘Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,And therefore yee shall dye.’

Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,And swith[304]he drew his brand,And Estmere he and Adler YongeRight stiffe in stour[305]can stand.

And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,Throughe help of gramarye,That soone they have slayne the kempery men,Or forst them forth to flee.

Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye,And marryed her to his wiffe,And brought her home to merry England,With her to lead his life.

FOOTNOTES:[291]renisht =perhaps for‘revisht’, dressed, arrayed.[292]weeds = garments.[293]rearing = leaning.[294]nickèd = refused.[295]pall = fine cloth.[296]kempès = fighting-men.[297]blanne = halted.[298]My reade shall ryse = my counsel shall arise, or spring, from thee.[299]yate = gate.[300]lither = naughty.[301]neigh = come nigh, approach.[302]till = entice.[303]fitt = strain of music.[304]swith = swiftly.[305]stour = press of fighting.

[291]renisht =perhaps for‘revisht’, dressed, arrayed.

[292]weeds = garments.

[293]rearing = leaning.

[294]nickèd = refused.

[295]pall = fine cloth.

[296]kempès = fighting-men.

[297]blanne = halted.

[298]My reade shall ryse = my counsel shall arise, or spring, from thee.

[299]yate = gate.

[300]lither = naughty.

[301]neigh = come nigh, approach.

[302]till = entice.

[303]fitt = strain of music.

[304]swith = swiftly.

[305]stour = press of fighting.

I‘It’s narrow, narrow, mak your bed,And learn to lie your lane;For I’m gaun owre the sea, Fair Annie,A braw Bride to bring hame.Wi’ her I will get gowd and gear,Wi’ you I ne’er gat nane.II‘But wha will bake my bridal bread,Or brew my bridal ale?And wha will become my bright Bride,That I bring owre the dale?’—III‘It’s I will bake your bridal bread,And brew your bridal ale;And I will welcome your bright Bride,That you bring owre the dale.’—IV‘But she that welcomes my bright BrideMaun gang like maiden fair;She maun lace on her robe sae jimp[306],And comely braid her hair.V‘Bind up, bind up your yellow hair,And tie it on your neck;And see you look as maiden-likeAs the day that first we met.’—VI‘O how can I gang maiden-like,When maiden I am nane?Have I not borne six sons to thee,And am wi’ child again?’—VII‘I’ll put cooks into my kitchen,And stewards in my hall,And I’ll have bakers for my bread,And brewers for my ale;But you’re to welcome my bright Bride,That I bring owre the dale.’VIIIThree months and a day were gane and past,Fair Annie she gat wordThat her love’s ship was come at last,Wi’ his bright young Bride aboard.IXShe’s ta’en her young son in her arms,Anither in her hand;And she’s gane up to the highest tower,Looks over sea and land.X‘Come doun, come doun, my mother dear,Come aff the castle wa’!I fear if langer ye stand there,Ye’ll let yoursell doun fa’.’XIShe’s ta’en a cake o’ the best bread,A stoup o’ the best wine,And a’ the keys upon her arm,And to the yett[307]is gane.XII‘O ye’re welcome hame, my ain gude lord,To your castles and your towers;Ye’re welcome hame, my ain gude lord,To your ha’s, but and your bowers.And welcome to your hame, fair lady!For a’ that’s here is yours.’XIII‘O whatna lady’s that, my lord,That welcomes you and me?Gin I be lang about this place,Her friend I mean to be.’XIVFair Annie served the lang tablesWi’ the white bread and the wine;But ay she drank the wan waterTo keep her colour fine.XVAnd aye she served the lang tablesWi’ the white bread and the brown,And aye she turn’d her round about,Sae fast the tears fell doun.XVIShe took a napkin lang and white,And hung it on a pin;It was to wipe away the tears,As she gaed out and in.XVIIWhen bells were rung and mass was sung,And a’ men bound for bed,The bridegroom and the bonny BrideIn ae chamber were laid.XVIIIFair Annie’s ta’en a harp in her hand,To harp thir twa asleep;But ay, as she harpit and she sang,Fu’ sairly did she weep.XIX‘O gin my sons were seven rats,Rinnin’ on the castle wa’,And I mysell a great grey cat,I soon wad worry them a’!XX‘O gin my sons were seven hares,Rinnin’ owre yon lily lea,And I mysell a good greyhound,Soon worried they a’ should be!’XXIThen out and spak the bonny young Bride,In bride-bed where she lay:‘That’s like my sister Annie,’ she says;‘Wha is it doth sing and play?XXII‘I’ll put on my gown,’ said the new-come Bride,‘And my shoes upon my feet;I will see wha doth sae sadly sing,And what is it gars her greet.XXIII‘What ails you, what ails you, my housekeeper,That ye mak sic a mane?Has ony wine-barrel cast its girds,Or is a’ your white bread gane?’—XXIV‘It isna because my wine is spilt,Or that my white bread’s gane;But because I’ve lost my true love’s love,And he’s wed to anither ane.’—XXV‘Noo tell me wha was your father?’ she says,‘Noo tell me wha was your mither?And had ye ony sister?’ she says,‘And had ye ever a brither?’—XXVI‘The Earl of Wemyss was my father,The Countess of Wemyss my mither,Young Elinor she was my sister dear,And Lord John he was my brither.’—XXVII‘If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,I wot sae was he mine;And it’s O my sister Annie!Your love ye sallna tyne[308].XXVIII‘Tak your husband, my sister dear;You ne’er were wrang’d for me,Beyond a kiss o’ his merry mouthAs we cam owre the sea.XXIX‘Seven ships, loaded weel,Cam owre the sea wi’ me;Ane o’ them will tak me hame,And six I’ll gie to thee.’

‘It’s narrow, narrow, mak your bed,And learn to lie your lane;For I’m gaun owre the sea, Fair Annie,A braw Bride to bring hame.Wi’ her I will get gowd and gear,Wi’ you I ne’er gat nane.

‘But wha will bake my bridal bread,Or brew my bridal ale?And wha will become my bright Bride,That I bring owre the dale?’—

‘It’s I will bake your bridal bread,And brew your bridal ale;And I will welcome your bright Bride,That you bring owre the dale.’—

‘But she that welcomes my bright BrideMaun gang like maiden fair;She maun lace on her robe sae jimp[306],And comely braid her hair.

‘Bind up, bind up your yellow hair,And tie it on your neck;And see you look as maiden-likeAs the day that first we met.’—

‘O how can I gang maiden-like,When maiden I am nane?Have I not borne six sons to thee,And am wi’ child again?’—

‘I’ll put cooks into my kitchen,And stewards in my hall,And I’ll have bakers for my bread,And brewers for my ale;But you’re to welcome my bright Bride,That I bring owre the dale.’

Three months and a day were gane and past,Fair Annie she gat wordThat her love’s ship was come at last,Wi’ his bright young Bride aboard.

She’s ta’en her young son in her arms,Anither in her hand;And she’s gane up to the highest tower,Looks over sea and land.

‘Come doun, come doun, my mother dear,Come aff the castle wa’!I fear if langer ye stand there,Ye’ll let yoursell doun fa’.’

She’s ta’en a cake o’ the best bread,A stoup o’ the best wine,And a’ the keys upon her arm,And to the yett[307]is gane.

‘O ye’re welcome hame, my ain gude lord,To your castles and your towers;Ye’re welcome hame, my ain gude lord,To your ha’s, but and your bowers.And welcome to your hame, fair lady!For a’ that’s here is yours.’

‘O whatna lady’s that, my lord,That welcomes you and me?Gin I be lang about this place,Her friend I mean to be.’

Fair Annie served the lang tablesWi’ the white bread and the wine;But ay she drank the wan waterTo keep her colour fine.

And aye she served the lang tablesWi’ the white bread and the brown,And aye she turn’d her round about,Sae fast the tears fell doun.

She took a napkin lang and white,And hung it on a pin;It was to wipe away the tears,As she gaed out and in.

When bells were rung and mass was sung,And a’ men bound for bed,The bridegroom and the bonny BrideIn ae chamber were laid.

Fair Annie’s ta’en a harp in her hand,To harp thir twa asleep;But ay, as she harpit and she sang,Fu’ sairly did she weep.

‘O gin my sons were seven rats,Rinnin’ on the castle wa’,And I mysell a great grey cat,I soon wad worry them a’!

‘O gin my sons were seven hares,Rinnin’ owre yon lily lea,And I mysell a good greyhound,Soon worried they a’ should be!’

Then out and spak the bonny young Bride,In bride-bed where she lay:‘That’s like my sister Annie,’ she says;‘Wha is it doth sing and play?

‘I’ll put on my gown,’ said the new-come Bride,‘And my shoes upon my feet;I will see wha doth sae sadly sing,And what is it gars her greet.

‘What ails you, what ails you, my housekeeper,That ye mak sic a mane?Has ony wine-barrel cast its girds,Or is a’ your white bread gane?’—

‘It isna because my wine is spilt,Or that my white bread’s gane;But because I’ve lost my true love’s love,And he’s wed to anither ane.’—

‘Noo tell me wha was your father?’ she says,‘Noo tell me wha was your mither?And had ye ony sister?’ she says,‘And had ye ever a brither?’—

‘The Earl of Wemyss was my father,The Countess of Wemyss my mither,Young Elinor she was my sister dear,And Lord John he was my brither.’—

‘If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,I wot sae was he mine;And it’s O my sister Annie!Your love ye sallna tyne[308].

‘Tak your husband, my sister dear;You ne’er were wrang’d for me,Beyond a kiss o’ his merry mouthAs we cam owre the sea.

‘Seven ships, loaded weel,Cam owre the sea wi’ me;Ane o’ them will tak me hame,And six I’ll gie to thee.’

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