FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[306]jimp = slender, trim.[307]yett = gate.[308]tyne = lose.

[306]jimp = slender, trim.

[307]yett = gate.

[308]tyne = lose.

I‘O wha will shoe my bonny foot?And wha will glove my hand?And wha will bind my middle jimp[309]Wi’ a lang, lang linen band?II‘O wha will kame[310]my yellow hair,With a haw bayberry[311]kame?And wha will be my babe’s fatherTill Gregory come hame?’—III‘Thy father, he will shoe thy foot,Thy brother will glove thy hand,Thy mither will bind thy middle jimpWi’ a lang, lang linen band.IV‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair,Wi’ a haw bayberry kame;The Almighty will be thy babe’s fatherTill Gregory come hame.’—V‘And wha will build a bonny ship,And set it on the sea?For I will go to seek my love,My ain love Gregory.’VIUp then spak her father dear,A wafu’ man was he;‘And I will build a bonny ship,And set her on the sea.VII‘And I will build a bonny ship,And set her on the sea,And ye sal gae and seek your love,Your ain love Gregory.’VIIIThen he’s gart build a bonny ship,And set it on the sea,Wi’ four-and-twenty mariners,To bear her company.IXO he’s gart build a bonny ship,To sail on the salt sea;The mast was o’ the beaten gold,The sails o’ cramoisie[312].XThe sides were o’ the gude stout aik,The deck o’ mountain pine,The anchor o’ the silver shene,The ropes o’ silken twine.XIShe hadna sail’d but twenty leagues,But twenty leagues and three,When she met wi’ a rank reiver[313],And a’ his companie.XII‘Now are ye Queen of Heaven hie,Come to pardon a’ our sin?Or are ye Mary Magdalane,Was born at Bethlehem?’—XIII‘I’m no the Queen of Heaven hie,Come to pardon ye your sin,Nor am I Mary Magdalane,Was born in Bethlehem.XIV‘But I’m the lass of Lochroyan,That’s sailing on the seaTo see if I can find my love,My ain love Gregory.’—XV‘O see na ye yon bonny bower?It’s a’ covered owre wi’ tin?When thou hast sail’d it round about,Lord Gregory is within.’XVIAnd when she saw the stately tower,Shining both clear and bright,Whilk stood aboon the jawing[314]wave,Built on a rock of height,XVIISays, ‘Row the boat, my mariners,And bring me to the land,For yonder I see my love’s castle,Close by the salt sea strand.’XVIIIShe sail’d it round, and sail’d it round,And loud and loud cried she,‘Now break, now break your fairy charms,And set my true-love free!’XIXShe’s ta’en her young son in her arms,And to the door she’s gane,And long she knock’d, and sair she ca’d,But answer got she nane.XX‘O open, open, Gregory!O open! if ye be within;For here’s the lass of Lochroyan,Come far fra kith and kin.XXI‘O open the door, Lord Gregory!O open and let me in!The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory,The rain drops fra my chin.XXII‘The shoe is frozen to my foot,The glove unto my hand,The wet drops fra my yellow hair,Na langer dow[315]I stand.’XXIIIO up then spak his ill mither,—An ill death may she die!‘Ye’re no the lass of Lochroyan,She’s far out-owre the sea.XXIV‘Awa’, awa’, ye ill woman,Ye’re no come here for gude;Ye’re but some witch or wil’ warlock,Or mermaid o’ the flood.’—XXV‘I am neither witch nor wil’ warlock,Nor mermaid o’ the sea,But I am Annie of Lochroyan,O open the door to me!’—XXVI‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,As I trow thou binna she,Now tell me of some love-tokensThat pass’d ’tween thee and me.’XXVII‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,As we sat at the wine,We changed the rings frae our fingers?And I can shew thee thine.XXVIII‘O yours was gude, and gude enough,But ay the best was mine,For yours was o’ the gude red gowd,But mine o’ the diamond fine.XXIX‘Yours was o’ the gude red gowd,Mine o’ the diamond fine;Mine was o’ the purest troth,But thine was false within.’—XXX‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan,As I kenna thou be,Tell me some mair o’ the love-tokensPass’d between thee and me.’—XXXI‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory!As we sat on the hill,Thou twin’d me o’ my maidenheid,Right sair against my will?XXXII‘Now open the door, love Gregory!Open the door! I pray;For thy young son is in my arms;And will be dead ere day.’—XXXIII‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman,So loud I hear ye lie;For Annie of the LochroyanIs far out-owre the sea.’XXXIVFair Annie turn’d her round about:‘Weel, sine that it be sae,May ne’er woman that has borne a sonHae a heart sae fu’ o’ wae!XXXV‘Tak down, tak down that mast o’ gowd,Set up a mast of tree;It disna become a forsaken ladyTo sail sae royallie.’XXXVIWhen the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,And the sun began to peep,Up then raise Lord Gregory,And sair, sair did he weep.XXXVII‘O I hae dream’d a dream, mither,I wish it may bring good!That the bonny lass of LochroyanAt my bower window stood.XXXVIII‘O I hae dream’d a dream, mither,The thought o’t gars me greet!That fair Annie of LochroyanLay dead at my bed-feet.’—XXXIX‘Gin it be for Annie of LochroyanThat ye mak a’ this mane,She stood last night at your bower-door,But I hae sent her hame.’—XL‘O wae betide ye, ill woman,An ill death may ye die!That wadna open the door yoursellNor yet wad waken me.’XLIO he’s gane down to yon shore-side,As fast as he could dree,And there he saw fair Annie’s barkA rowing owre the sea.XLII‘O Annie, Annie,’ loud he cried,‘O Annie, O Annie, bide!’But ay the mair he cried ‘Annie,’The braider grew the tide.XLIII‘O Annie, Annie, dear Annie,Dear Annie, speak to me!’But ay the louder he ’gan call,The louder roar’d the sea.XLIVThe wind blew loud, the waves rose hieAnd dash’d the boat on shore;Fair Annie’s corpse was in the faem,The babe rose never more.XLVLord Gregory tore his gowden locksAnd made a wafu’ moan;Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,His bonny son was gone.XLVIO cherry, cherry was her cheek,And gowden was her hair,And coral, coral was her lips,Nane might with her compare!XLVIIThen first he kiss’d her pale, pale cheek,And syne he kiss’d her chin,And syne he kiss’d her wane, wane lips,There was na breath within.XLVIII‘O wae betide my ill mither,An ill death may she die!She turn’d my true-love frae my door,Who cam so far to me.XLIX‘O wae betide my ill mither,An ill death may she die!She has no been the deid[316]o’ ane,But she’s been the deid of three.’LThen he’s ta’en out a little dart,Hung low down by his gore[317],He thrust it through and through his heart,And words spak never more.

‘O wha will shoe my bonny foot?And wha will glove my hand?And wha will bind my middle jimp[309]Wi’ a lang, lang linen band?

‘O wha will kame[310]my yellow hair,With a haw bayberry[311]kame?And wha will be my babe’s fatherTill Gregory come hame?’—

‘Thy father, he will shoe thy foot,Thy brother will glove thy hand,Thy mither will bind thy middle jimpWi’ a lang, lang linen band.

‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair,Wi’ a haw bayberry kame;The Almighty will be thy babe’s fatherTill Gregory come hame.’—

‘And wha will build a bonny ship,And set it on the sea?For I will go to seek my love,My ain love Gregory.’

Up then spak her father dear,A wafu’ man was he;‘And I will build a bonny ship,And set her on the sea.

‘And I will build a bonny ship,And set her on the sea,And ye sal gae and seek your love,Your ain love Gregory.’

Then he’s gart build a bonny ship,And set it on the sea,Wi’ four-and-twenty mariners,To bear her company.

O he’s gart build a bonny ship,To sail on the salt sea;The mast was o’ the beaten gold,The sails o’ cramoisie[312].

The sides were o’ the gude stout aik,The deck o’ mountain pine,The anchor o’ the silver shene,The ropes o’ silken twine.

She hadna sail’d but twenty leagues,But twenty leagues and three,When she met wi’ a rank reiver[313],And a’ his companie.

‘Now are ye Queen of Heaven hie,Come to pardon a’ our sin?Or are ye Mary Magdalane,Was born at Bethlehem?’—

‘I’m no the Queen of Heaven hie,Come to pardon ye your sin,Nor am I Mary Magdalane,Was born in Bethlehem.

‘But I’m the lass of Lochroyan,That’s sailing on the seaTo see if I can find my love,My ain love Gregory.’—

‘O see na ye yon bonny bower?It’s a’ covered owre wi’ tin?When thou hast sail’d it round about,Lord Gregory is within.’

And when she saw the stately tower,Shining both clear and bright,Whilk stood aboon the jawing[314]wave,Built on a rock of height,

Says, ‘Row the boat, my mariners,And bring me to the land,For yonder I see my love’s castle,Close by the salt sea strand.’

She sail’d it round, and sail’d it round,And loud and loud cried she,‘Now break, now break your fairy charms,And set my true-love free!’

She’s ta’en her young son in her arms,And to the door she’s gane,And long she knock’d, and sair she ca’d,But answer got she nane.

‘O open, open, Gregory!O open! if ye be within;For here’s the lass of Lochroyan,Come far fra kith and kin.

‘O open the door, Lord Gregory!O open and let me in!The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory,The rain drops fra my chin.

‘The shoe is frozen to my foot,The glove unto my hand,The wet drops fra my yellow hair,Na langer dow[315]I stand.’

O up then spak his ill mither,—An ill death may she die!‘Ye’re no the lass of Lochroyan,She’s far out-owre the sea.

‘Awa’, awa’, ye ill woman,Ye’re no come here for gude;Ye’re but some witch or wil’ warlock,Or mermaid o’ the flood.’—

‘I am neither witch nor wil’ warlock,Nor mermaid o’ the sea,But I am Annie of Lochroyan,O open the door to me!’—

‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,As I trow thou binna she,Now tell me of some love-tokensThat pass’d ’tween thee and me.’

‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,As we sat at the wine,We changed the rings frae our fingers?And I can shew thee thine.

‘O yours was gude, and gude enough,But ay the best was mine,For yours was o’ the gude red gowd,But mine o’ the diamond fine.

‘Yours was o’ the gude red gowd,Mine o’ the diamond fine;Mine was o’ the purest troth,But thine was false within.’—

‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan,As I kenna thou be,Tell me some mair o’ the love-tokensPass’d between thee and me.’—

‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory!As we sat on the hill,Thou twin’d me o’ my maidenheid,Right sair against my will?

‘Now open the door, love Gregory!Open the door! I pray;For thy young son is in my arms;And will be dead ere day.’—

‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman,So loud I hear ye lie;For Annie of the LochroyanIs far out-owre the sea.’

Fair Annie turn’d her round about:‘Weel, sine that it be sae,May ne’er woman that has borne a sonHae a heart sae fu’ o’ wae!

‘Tak down, tak down that mast o’ gowd,Set up a mast of tree;It disna become a forsaken ladyTo sail sae royallie.’

When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,And the sun began to peep,Up then raise Lord Gregory,And sair, sair did he weep.

‘O I hae dream’d a dream, mither,I wish it may bring good!That the bonny lass of LochroyanAt my bower window stood.

‘O I hae dream’d a dream, mither,The thought o’t gars me greet!That fair Annie of LochroyanLay dead at my bed-feet.’—

‘Gin it be for Annie of LochroyanThat ye mak a’ this mane,She stood last night at your bower-door,But I hae sent her hame.’—

‘O wae betide ye, ill woman,An ill death may ye die!That wadna open the door yoursellNor yet wad waken me.’

O he’s gane down to yon shore-side,As fast as he could dree,And there he saw fair Annie’s barkA rowing owre the sea.

‘O Annie, Annie,’ loud he cried,‘O Annie, O Annie, bide!’But ay the mair he cried ‘Annie,’The braider grew the tide.

‘O Annie, Annie, dear Annie,Dear Annie, speak to me!’But ay the louder he ’gan call,The louder roar’d the sea.

The wind blew loud, the waves rose hieAnd dash’d the boat on shore;Fair Annie’s corpse was in the faem,The babe rose never more.

Lord Gregory tore his gowden locksAnd made a wafu’ moan;Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,His bonny son was gone.

O cherry, cherry was her cheek,And gowden was her hair,And coral, coral was her lips,Nane might with her compare!

Then first he kiss’d her pale, pale cheek,And syne he kiss’d her chin,And syne he kiss’d her wane, wane lips,There was na breath within.

‘O wae betide my ill mither,An ill death may she die!She turn’d my true-love frae my door,Who cam so far to me.

‘O wae betide my ill mither,An ill death may she die!She has no been the deid[316]o’ ane,But she’s been the deid of three.’

Then he’s ta’en out a little dart,Hung low down by his gore[317],He thrust it through and through his heart,And words spak never more.

FOOTNOTES:[309]jimp = slim.[310]kame = comb.[311]haw bayberry =?a corruption for‘braw ivory’:orbayberrymay= laurel-wood.[312]cramoisie = crimson.[313]reiver = robber.[314]jawing = surging.[315]dow = can.[316]deid = death.[317]gore = skirt, waist.

[309]jimp = slim.

[310]kame = comb.

[311]haw bayberry =?a corruption for‘braw ivory’:orbayberrymay= laurel-wood.

[312]cramoisie = crimson.

[313]reiver = robber.

[314]jawing = surging.

[315]dow = can.

[316]deid = death.

[317]gore = skirt, waist.

IYoung Bekie was as brave a knightAs ever sail’d the sea;And he’s doen him to the court of France,To serve for meat and fee.IIHe had nae been i’ the court of FranceA twelvemonth nor sae long,Til he fell in love with the king’s daughter,And was thrown in prison strong.IIIThe king he had but ae daughter,Burd Isbel was her name;And she has to the prison-house gane,To hear the prisoner’s mane.IV‘O gin a lady wou’d borrow[318]me,At her stirrup-foot I wou’d rin;Or gin a widow wou’d borrow me,I wou’d swear to be her son.V‘Or gin a virgin wou’d borrow me,I wou’d wed her wi’ a ring;I’d gie her ha’s, I’d gie her bowers,The bonny towrs o’ Linne.’VIO barefoot, barefoot gaed she but[319],And barefoot came she ben[320];It was no for want o’ hose and shoone,Nor time to put them on;VIIBut a’ for fear that her father dearHad heard her making din:She’s stown the keys o’ the prison-house doorAnd latten the prisoner gang.VIIIO whan she saw him, Young Bekie,Her heart was wondrous sair!For the mice but and the bold rottons[321]Had eaten his yallow hair.IXShe’s gi’en him a shaver for his beard,A comber till his hair,Five hunder pound in his pocket,To spen’ and nae to spair.XShe’s gi’en him a steed was good in need,An’ a saddle o’ royal bone[322],A leash o’ hounds o’ ae litter,And Hector callèd one.XIAtween this twa a vow was made,’Twas made full solemnly.That or three years was come an’ gane,Well married they should be.XIIHe had nae been in ’s ain countryA twelvemonth till an end,Till he’s forc’d to marry a duke’s daughter,Or than[323]lose a’ his land.XIII‘Ohon, alas!’ says Young Bekie,‘I know not what to dee;For I canno win to Burd Isbel,An’ she kensnae to come to me.’XIVO it fell once upon a dayBurd Isbel fell asleep,And up it starts the Billy Blind[324],And stood at her bed-feet.XV‘O waken, waken, Burd Isbel,How can you sleep so soun’,Whan this is Bekie’s wedding day,An’ the marriage gaïn on?XVI‘Ye do ye to your mither’s bowr,Think neither sin nor shame;An’ ye tak twa o’ your mither’s marys[325],To keep ye frae thinking lang.XVII‘Ye dress yoursel’ in the red scarlèt,An’ your marys in dainty green,An’ ye pit girdles about your middlesWou’d buy an earldome.XVIII‘O ye gang down by yon sea-side,An’ down by yon sea-stran’;Sae bonny will the Hollan’s boatsCome rowin’ till your han’.XIX‘Ye set your milke-white foot abord,Cry, Hail ye, Domine!An’ I shal be the steerer o’t,To row you o’er the sea.’XXShe’s tane her till her mither’s bowr,Thought neither sin nor shame,And she took twa o’ her mither’s marys,To keep her frae thinking lang.XXIShe dress’d hersel’ i’ the red scarlèt,Her marys i’ dainty green,And they pat girdles about their middlesWou’d buy an earldome.XXIIAnd they gid down by yon sea-side,And down by yon sea-stran’;Sae bonny did the Hollan’s boatsCome rowin’ to their han’.XXIIIShe set her milke-white foot on board,Cried, Hail ye, Domine!And the Billy Blind was the steerer o’t,To row her o’er the sea.XXIVWhan she came to young Bekie’s gate,She heard the music play;Sae well she kent frae a’ she heard,It was his wedding day.XXVShe’s pitten her han’ in her pocket,Gi’en the porter guineas three;‘Hae, tak ye that, ye proud portèr,Bid the bride-groom speake to me.’XXVIO whan that he cam up the stair,He fell low down on his knee:He hail’d the king, and he hail’d the queen,And he hail’d him, Young Bekie.XXVII‘O I’ve been porter at your gatesThis thirty years an’ three;But there’s three ladies at them now,Their like I never did see.XXVIII‘There’s ane o’ them dress’d in red scarlèt,An’ twa in dainty green,An’ they hae girdles about their middlesWou’d buy an earldome.’XXIXThen out it spake the bierly[326]bride,Was a’ goud to the chin;‘Gin she be braw without,’ she says,‘We’s be as braw within.’XXXThen up it starts him, Young Bekie,And the tears was in his e’e:‘I’ll lay my life it’s Burd Isbel,Come o’er the sea to me.’XXXIO quickly ran he down the stair,And whan he saw ’t was shee,He kindly took her in his arms,And kiss’d her tenderly.XXXII‘O hae ye forgotten, Young Bekie,The vow ye made to me,Whan I took you out o’ the prison strong,Whan ye was condemn’d to die?XXXIII‘I gae you a steed was good in need,An’ a saddle o’ royal bone,A leash o’ hounds o’ ae litter,An’ Hector callèd one.’XXXIVIt was well kent what the lady said,That it wasnae a lee,For at ilka word the lady spake,The hound fell at her knee.XXXV‘Tak hame, tak hame your daughter dear,A blessing gae her wi’!For I maun marry my Burd Isbel,That’s come o’er the sea to me.’XXXVI‘Is this the custom o’ your house,Or the fashion o’ your lan’,To marry a maid in a May mornin’,An’ to send her back at even?’

Young Bekie was as brave a knightAs ever sail’d the sea;And he’s doen him to the court of France,To serve for meat and fee.

He had nae been i’ the court of FranceA twelvemonth nor sae long,Til he fell in love with the king’s daughter,And was thrown in prison strong.

The king he had but ae daughter,Burd Isbel was her name;And she has to the prison-house gane,To hear the prisoner’s mane.

‘O gin a lady wou’d borrow[318]me,At her stirrup-foot I wou’d rin;Or gin a widow wou’d borrow me,I wou’d swear to be her son.

‘Or gin a virgin wou’d borrow me,I wou’d wed her wi’ a ring;I’d gie her ha’s, I’d gie her bowers,The bonny towrs o’ Linne.’

O barefoot, barefoot gaed she but[319],And barefoot came she ben[320];It was no for want o’ hose and shoone,Nor time to put them on;

But a’ for fear that her father dearHad heard her making din:She’s stown the keys o’ the prison-house doorAnd latten the prisoner gang.

O whan she saw him, Young Bekie,Her heart was wondrous sair!For the mice but and the bold rottons[321]Had eaten his yallow hair.

She’s gi’en him a shaver for his beard,A comber till his hair,Five hunder pound in his pocket,To spen’ and nae to spair.

She’s gi’en him a steed was good in need,An’ a saddle o’ royal bone[322],A leash o’ hounds o’ ae litter,And Hector callèd one.

Atween this twa a vow was made,’Twas made full solemnly.That or three years was come an’ gane,Well married they should be.

He had nae been in ’s ain countryA twelvemonth till an end,Till he’s forc’d to marry a duke’s daughter,Or than[323]lose a’ his land.

‘Ohon, alas!’ says Young Bekie,‘I know not what to dee;For I canno win to Burd Isbel,An’ she kensnae to come to me.’

O it fell once upon a dayBurd Isbel fell asleep,And up it starts the Billy Blind[324],And stood at her bed-feet.

‘O waken, waken, Burd Isbel,How can you sleep so soun’,Whan this is Bekie’s wedding day,An’ the marriage gaïn on?

‘Ye do ye to your mither’s bowr,Think neither sin nor shame;An’ ye tak twa o’ your mither’s marys[325],To keep ye frae thinking lang.

‘Ye dress yoursel’ in the red scarlèt,An’ your marys in dainty green,An’ ye pit girdles about your middlesWou’d buy an earldome.

‘O ye gang down by yon sea-side,An’ down by yon sea-stran’;Sae bonny will the Hollan’s boatsCome rowin’ till your han’.

‘Ye set your milke-white foot abord,Cry, Hail ye, Domine!An’ I shal be the steerer o’t,To row you o’er the sea.’

She’s tane her till her mither’s bowr,Thought neither sin nor shame,And she took twa o’ her mither’s marys,To keep her frae thinking lang.

She dress’d hersel’ i’ the red scarlèt,Her marys i’ dainty green,And they pat girdles about their middlesWou’d buy an earldome.

And they gid down by yon sea-side,And down by yon sea-stran’;Sae bonny did the Hollan’s boatsCome rowin’ to their han’.

She set her milke-white foot on board,Cried, Hail ye, Domine!And the Billy Blind was the steerer o’t,To row her o’er the sea.

Whan she came to young Bekie’s gate,She heard the music play;Sae well she kent frae a’ she heard,It was his wedding day.

She’s pitten her han’ in her pocket,Gi’en the porter guineas three;‘Hae, tak ye that, ye proud portèr,Bid the bride-groom speake to me.’

O whan that he cam up the stair,He fell low down on his knee:He hail’d the king, and he hail’d the queen,And he hail’d him, Young Bekie.

‘O I’ve been porter at your gatesThis thirty years an’ three;But there’s three ladies at them now,Their like I never did see.

‘There’s ane o’ them dress’d in red scarlèt,An’ twa in dainty green,An’ they hae girdles about their middlesWou’d buy an earldome.’

Then out it spake the bierly[326]bride,Was a’ goud to the chin;‘Gin she be braw without,’ she says,‘We’s be as braw within.’

Then up it starts him, Young Bekie,And the tears was in his e’e:‘I’ll lay my life it’s Burd Isbel,Come o’er the sea to me.’

O quickly ran he down the stair,And whan he saw ’t was shee,He kindly took her in his arms,And kiss’d her tenderly.

‘O hae ye forgotten, Young Bekie,The vow ye made to me,Whan I took you out o’ the prison strong,Whan ye was condemn’d to die?

‘I gae you a steed was good in need,An’ a saddle o’ royal bone,A leash o’ hounds o’ ae litter,An’ Hector callèd one.’

It was well kent what the lady said,That it wasnae a lee,For at ilka word the lady spake,The hound fell at her knee.

‘Tak hame, tak hame your daughter dear,A blessing gae her wi’!For I maun marry my Burd Isbel,That’s come o’er the sea to me.’

‘Is this the custom o’ your house,Or the fashion o’ your lan’,To marry a maid in a May mornin’,An’ to send her back at even?’

FOOTNOTES:[318]borrow = ransom.[319]but = out.[320]ben = in.[321]rottons = rats.[322]royal bone = ivory.[323]Or than = Or else.[324]Billy Blind = a friendly household fairy. Seep. 80.[325]marys = maids.[326]bierly = stately.

[318]borrow = ransom.

[319]but = out.

[320]ben = in.

[321]rottons = rats.

[322]royal bone = ivory.

[323]Or than = Or else.

[324]Billy Blind = a friendly household fairy. Seep. 80.

[325]marys = maids.

[326]bierly = stately.

IIn London was Young Beichan born,He long’d strange countries for to see;But he was ta’en by a savage MoorWho handled him right cruellie.IIFor he view’d the fashions of that land,Their way of worship viewèd he;But to Mahound or TermagantWould Beichan never bend a knee.IIISo thro’ every shoulder they’ve bored a bore,And thro’ every bore they’ve putten a tree,And they have made him trail the wineAnd spices on his fair bodie.IVThey’ve casten him in a dungeon deep,Where he could neither hear nor see;And fed him on nought but bread and waterTill he for hunger’s like to die.VThis Moor he had but ae daughter,Her name was callèd Susie Pye,And every day as she took the airShe heard Young Beichan sadly crie:VI‘My hounds they all run masterless,My hawks they flie from tree to tree,My youngest brother will heir my lands;Fair England again I’ll never see!VII‘O were I free as I hae been,And my ship swimming once more on sea,I’d turn my face to fair EnglandAnd sail no more to a strange countrie!’VIIIYoung Beichan’s song for thinking onAll night she never closed her e’e;She’s stown[327]the keys from her father’s headWi’ mickle gold and white monie.IXAnd she has open’d the prison doors:I wot she open’d twa or threeEre she could come Young Beichan at,He was lock’d up so curiouslie.X‘O hae ye any lands or rents,Or cities in your own countrie,Cou’d free you out of prison strongAnd cou’d maintain a lady free?’—XI‘O London city is my own,And other cities twa or three;I’ll give them all to the lady fairThat out of prison will set me free.’XIIO she has bribed her father’s menWi’ mickle gold and white monie,She’s gotten the keys of the prison strong,And she has set Young Beichan free.XIIIShe’s fed him upon the good spice-cake,The Spanish wine and the malvoisie;She’s broken a ring from off her fingerAnd to Beichan half of it gave she.XIV‘Go set your foot on good shipboard,And haste you back to your own countrie,But before that seven years has an end,Come back again, love, and marry me.’XVIt was long or seven years had an endShe long’d full sore her love to see;So she’s set her foot on good ship-boardAnd turn’d her back on her own countrie.XVIShe’s sailèd east, she’s sailèd west,She’s sailèd all across the sea,And when she came to fair EnglandThe bells were ringing merrilie.XVII‘O whose are a’ yon flock o’ sheep?And whose are a’ yon flock o’ kye[328]?And whose are a’ yon pretty castles,That I so often do pass by?’XVIII‘O they are a’ Lord Beichan’s sheep,And they are a’ Lord Beichan’s kye,And they are a’ Lord Beichan’s castlesThat you so often do pass by.XIX‘O there’s a wedding in yonder ha’,Has lasted thirty days and three;Lord Beichan will not bed wi’ his brideFor love of one that’s ’yond the sea.’XXWhen she came to Young Beichan’s gateShe tirlèd[329]softly at the pin;So ready was the proud portèrTo open and let this lady in.XXI‘Is this Young Beichan’s gates?’ she says,‘Or is that noble lord within?’—‘He’s up the stairs wi’ his bonny bride,For this is the day o’ his weddin’.’—XXII‘O has he taken a bonny bride,And has he clean forgotten me?’And sighing said that ladye gay,‘I wish I were in my own countrie!’XXIIIShe’s putten her hand in her pockètAnd gi’en the porter guineas three;Says, ‘Take ye that, ye proud portèr,And bid the bridegroom speak with me.’XXIVAnd she has ta’en her gay gold ring,That with her love she brake so free;Says, ‘Gie him that, ye proud portèr,And bid the bridegroom speak with me.’XXVO when the porter came up the stair,He’s kneelèd low upon his knee:‘Won[330]up, won up, ye proud portèr,And what makes a’ this courtesie?’—XXVI‘O I’ve been porter at your gatesI’m sure this thirty years and three,But there is a lady stands thereatThe fairest I did ever see.’XXVIIIt’s out then spake the bride’s mother,—Aye, and an angry woman was she—‘Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,And twa or three of our companie.’XXVIII‘My dame, your daughter’s fair enough,And aye the fairer mote she be!But the fairest time that ever she was,She’ll no compare wi’ this ladye.XXIX‘For on every finger she has a ring,And on the mid-finger she has three,And as mickle gold she has on her brow’Would buy an earldome o’ land to me.XXX‘And this golden ring that’s broken in twa,She sends the half o’ this golden ring,And bids you speak with a lady fair,That out o’ prison did you bring.’XXXIThen up and started Young BeichanAnd sware so loud by Our Ladye,‘It can be none but Susie Pye,That has come over the sea to me!XXXIIO quickly ran he down the stair,Of fifteen steps he made but three;He’s ta’en his bonny love in his armsAnd kiss’d and kiss’d her tenderlie.XXXIII‘O have ye ta’en another bride,And have ye quite forsaken me?And have ye clean forgotten herThat gave you life and libertie?’XXXIVShe’s lookèd over her left shoulderTo hide the tears stood in her e’e;‘Now fare-thee-well, Young Beichan,’ she says—‘I’ll strive to think no more on thee.’XXXV‘O never, never, Susie Pye,For surely this can never be,That ever I shall wed but herThat’s done and dreed[331]so much for me!’XXXVIThen up bespake the bride’s mother—She never was heard to speak so free:‘Ye’ll not forsake my only daughter,Though Susie Pye has cross’d the sea.’XXXVII‘Take home, take home your daughter, madam,She’s never a bit the worse for me;For saving a kiss of her bonny lipsOf your daughter’s body I am free.’XXXVIIIHe’s ta’en her by the milk-white handAnd led her to yon fountain-stone[332];He’s changed her name from Susie PyeAnd call’d her his bonny love Lady Joan.

In London was Young Beichan born,He long’d strange countries for to see;But he was ta’en by a savage MoorWho handled him right cruellie.

For he view’d the fashions of that land,Their way of worship viewèd he;But to Mahound or TermagantWould Beichan never bend a knee.

So thro’ every shoulder they’ve bored a bore,And thro’ every bore they’ve putten a tree,And they have made him trail the wineAnd spices on his fair bodie.

They’ve casten him in a dungeon deep,Where he could neither hear nor see;And fed him on nought but bread and waterTill he for hunger’s like to die.

This Moor he had but ae daughter,Her name was callèd Susie Pye,And every day as she took the airShe heard Young Beichan sadly crie:

‘My hounds they all run masterless,My hawks they flie from tree to tree,My youngest brother will heir my lands;Fair England again I’ll never see!

‘O were I free as I hae been,And my ship swimming once more on sea,I’d turn my face to fair EnglandAnd sail no more to a strange countrie!’

Young Beichan’s song for thinking onAll night she never closed her e’e;She’s stown[327]the keys from her father’s headWi’ mickle gold and white monie.

And she has open’d the prison doors:I wot she open’d twa or threeEre she could come Young Beichan at,He was lock’d up so curiouslie.

‘O hae ye any lands or rents,Or cities in your own countrie,Cou’d free you out of prison strongAnd cou’d maintain a lady free?’—

‘O London city is my own,And other cities twa or three;I’ll give them all to the lady fairThat out of prison will set me free.’

O she has bribed her father’s menWi’ mickle gold and white monie,She’s gotten the keys of the prison strong,And she has set Young Beichan free.

She’s fed him upon the good spice-cake,The Spanish wine and the malvoisie;She’s broken a ring from off her fingerAnd to Beichan half of it gave she.

‘Go set your foot on good shipboard,And haste you back to your own countrie,But before that seven years has an end,Come back again, love, and marry me.’

It was long or seven years had an endShe long’d full sore her love to see;So she’s set her foot on good ship-boardAnd turn’d her back on her own countrie.

She’s sailèd east, she’s sailèd west,She’s sailèd all across the sea,And when she came to fair EnglandThe bells were ringing merrilie.

‘O whose are a’ yon flock o’ sheep?And whose are a’ yon flock o’ kye[328]?And whose are a’ yon pretty castles,That I so often do pass by?’

‘O they are a’ Lord Beichan’s sheep,And they are a’ Lord Beichan’s kye,And they are a’ Lord Beichan’s castlesThat you so often do pass by.

‘O there’s a wedding in yonder ha’,Has lasted thirty days and three;Lord Beichan will not bed wi’ his brideFor love of one that’s ’yond the sea.’

When she came to Young Beichan’s gateShe tirlèd[329]softly at the pin;So ready was the proud portèrTo open and let this lady in.

‘Is this Young Beichan’s gates?’ she says,‘Or is that noble lord within?’—‘He’s up the stairs wi’ his bonny bride,For this is the day o’ his weddin’.’—

‘O has he taken a bonny bride,And has he clean forgotten me?’And sighing said that ladye gay,‘I wish I were in my own countrie!’

She’s putten her hand in her pockètAnd gi’en the porter guineas three;Says, ‘Take ye that, ye proud portèr,And bid the bridegroom speak with me.’

And she has ta’en her gay gold ring,That with her love she brake so free;Says, ‘Gie him that, ye proud portèr,And bid the bridegroom speak with me.’

O when the porter came up the stair,He’s kneelèd low upon his knee:‘Won[330]up, won up, ye proud portèr,And what makes a’ this courtesie?’—

‘O I’ve been porter at your gatesI’m sure this thirty years and three,But there is a lady stands thereatThe fairest I did ever see.’

It’s out then spake the bride’s mother,—Aye, and an angry woman was she—‘Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,And twa or three of our companie.’

‘My dame, your daughter’s fair enough,And aye the fairer mote she be!But the fairest time that ever she was,She’ll no compare wi’ this ladye.

‘For on every finger she has a ring,And on the mid-finger she has three,And as mickle gold she has on her brow’Would buy an earldome o’ land to me.

‘And this golden ring that’s broken in twa,She sends the half o’ this golden ring,And bids you speak with a lady fair,That out o’ prison did you bring.’

Then up and started Young BeichanAnd sware so loud by Our Ladye,‘It can be none but Susie Pye,That has come over the sea to me!

O quickly ran he down the stair,Of fifteen steps he made but three;He’s ta’en his bonny love in his armsAnd kiss’d and kiss’d her tenderlie.

‘O have ye ta’en another bride,And have ye quite forsaken me?And have ye clean forgotten herThat gave you life and libertie?’

She’s lookèd over her left shoulderTo hide the tears stood in her e’e;‘Now fare-thee-well, Young Beichan,’ she says—‘I’ll strive to think no more on thee.’

‘O never, never, Susie Pye,For surely this can never be,That ever I shall wed but herThat’s done and dreed[331]so much for me!’

Then up bespake the bride’s mother—She never was heard to speak so free:‘Ye’ll not forsake my only daughter,Though Susie Pye has cross’d the sea.’

‘Take home, take home your daughter, madam,She’s never a bit the worse for me;For saving a kiss of her bonny lipsOf your daughter’s body I am free.’

He’s ta’en her by the milk-white handAnd led her to yon fountain-stone[332];He’s changed her name from Susie PyeAnd call’d her his bonny love Lady Joan.

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