FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[352]wee know = little hillock.

[352]wee know = little hillock.

O wow for day!And, dear, gin it were day!Gin it were day, and I were away—For I ha’ na lang time to stay.IAs it fell on one holy-day,As many be in the year,When young men and maids together did goTheir matins and mass to hear,IILittle Musgrave came to the church-door—The priest was at private mass—But he had more mind of the fair womenThan he had of Our Lady’s grace.IIIThe one of them was clad in green,Another was clad in pall[353],And then came in my Lord Barnard’s wife,The fairest amongst them all.IVShe cast an eye on Little MusgraveAs bright as the summer sun;And then bethought him Little Musgrave,‘This lady’s heart have I won.’VQuoth she, ‘I have loved thee, Little Musgrave,Full long and many a day.’—‘So have I loved you, fair ladye,Yet never word durst I say.’—VI‘But I have a bower at Bucklesfordberry,Full daintily it is dight;If thou’lt wend thither, thou Little Musgrave,Thou’s lig[354]in my arms all night.’VIIQuoth he, ‘I thank thee, fair ladye,This kindness thou showest to me;And whether it be to my weal or woeThis night I will lodge with thee.’VIIIWith that beheard a little tiny page,By his lady’s coach as he ran.Says, ‘Although I am my lady’s foot-page,Yet I am Lord Barnard’s man.’IXThen he’s cast off his hose and shoon,Set down his feet and ran,And where the bridges were broken downHe bent his bow and swam.X‘Awake! awake! thou Lord Barnard,As thou art a man of life!Little Musgrave is at BucklesfordberryAlong with thy own wedded wife.’—XI‘If this be true, thou little tiny page,This thing thou tellest to me,Then all the land in BucklesfordberryI freely will give to thee.XII‘But if it be a lie, thou little tiny page,This thing thou tellest to me,On the highest tree in BucklesfordberryThen hangèd shall thou be.’XIIIHe callèd up his merry men all:‘Come saddle me my steed;This night must I to Bucklesfordberry,For I never had greater need.’XIVBut some they whistled, and some they sung,And some they thus could say,Whenever Lord Barnard’s horn it blew:‘Away, Musgrave, away!...XV‘Methinks I hear the threstle cock,Methinks I hear the jay;Methinks I hear Lord Barnard’s horn,Away, Musgrave, away!’—XVI‘Lie still, lie still, thou little Musgrave,And huggle me from the cold;’Tis nothing but a shepherd’s boyA-driving his sheep to the fold.’XVIIBy this, Lord Barnard came to his doorAnd lighted a stone upon;And he’s pull’d out three silver keys,And open’d the doors each one.XVIIIHe lifted up the coverlet,He lifted up the sheet:‘Dost thou like my bed, Little Musgrave?Dost thou find my lady sweet?’—XIX‘I find her sweet,’ quoth Little Musgrave,‘The more ’tis to my pain;I would gladly give three hundred poundsThat I were on yonder plain.’—XX‘Arise, arise, thou Little Musgrave,And put thy clothès on;It shall ne’er be said in my countryI have kill’d a naked man.XXI‘I have two swords in one scabbard,They are both sharp and clear;Take you the best, and I the worst,We’ll end the matter here.’XXIIThe first stroke Little Musgrave struck,He hurt Lord Barnard sore;The next stroke that Lord Barnard struck,Little Musgrave ne’er struck more.XXIIIWith that bespake this fair lady,In bed where as she lay:‘Although thou’rt dead, thou Little Musgrave,Yet I for thee will pray.XXIV‘And wish well to thy soul will ISo long as I have life;So will I not for thee, Barnard,Although I’m thy wedded wife.’XXVHe cut her paps from off her breast;Great pity it was to seeThat some drops of this lady’s heart’s bloodRan trickling down her knee.XXVI‘Woe worth you, woe worth, my merry men all,You were ne’er born for my good!Why did you not offer to stay my handWhen you saw me wax so wood[355]?XXVII‘For I have slain the fairest ladyThat ever wore woman’s weed,Soe I have slain the fairest ladyThat ever did woman’s deed.XXVIII‘A grave, a grave,’ Lord Barnard cried,‘To put these lovers in!But lay my lady on the upper hand,For she comes of the nobler kin.’

O wow for day!And, dear, gin it were day!Gin it were day, and I were away—For I ha’ na lang time to stay.

As it fell on one holy-day,As many be in the year,When young men and maids together did goTheir matins and mass to hear,

Little Musgrave came to the church-door—The priest was at private mass—But he had more mind of the fair womenThan he had of Our Lady’s grace.

The one of them was clad in green,Another was clad in pall[353],And then came in my Lord Barnard’s wife,The fairest amongst them all.

She cast an eye on Little MusgraveAs bright as the summer sun;And then bethought him Little Musgrave,‘This lady’s heart have I won.’

Quoth she, ‘I have loved thee, Little Musgrave,Full long and many a day.’—‘So have I loved you, fair ladye,Yet never word durst I say.’—

‘But I have a bower at Bucklesfordberry,Full daintily it is dight;If thou’lt wend thither, thou Little Musgrave,Thou’s lig[354]in my arms all night.’

Quoth he, ‘I thank thee, fair ladye,This kindness thou showest to me;And whether it be to my weal or woeThis night I will lodge with thee.’

With that beheard a little tiny page,By his lady’s coach as he ran.Says, ‘Although I am my lady’s foot-page,Yet I am Lord Barnard’s man.’

Then he’s cast off his hose and shoon,Set down his feet and ran,And where the bridges were broken downHe bent his bow and swam.

‘Awake! awake! thou Lord Barnard,As thou art a man of life!Little Musgrave is at BucklesfordberryAlong with thy own wedded wife.’—

‘If this be true, thou little tiny page,This thing thou tellest to me,Then all the land in BucklesfordberryI freely will give to thee.

‘But if it be a lie, thou little tiny page,This thing thou tellest to me,On the highest tree in BucklesfordberryThen hangèd shall thou be.’

He callèd up his merry men all:‘Come saddle me my steed;This night must I to Bucklesfordberry,For I never had greater need.’

But some they whistled, and some they sung,And some they thus could say,Whenever Lord Barnard’s horn it blew:‘Away, Musgrave, away!...

‘Methinks I hear the threstle cock,Methinks I hear the jay;Methinks I hear Lord Barnard’s horn,Away, Musgrave, away!’—

‘Lie still, lie still, thou little Musgrave,And huggle me from the cold;’Tis nothing but a shepherd’s boyA-driving his sheep to the fold.’

By this, Lord Barnard came to his doorAnd lighted a stone upon;And he’s pull’d out three silver keys,And open’d the doors each one.

He lifted up the coverlet,He lifted up the sheet:‘Dost thou like my bed, Little Musgrave?Dost thou find my lady sweet?’—

‘I find her sweet,’ quoth Little Musgrave,‘The more ’tis to my pain;I would gladly give three hundred poundsThat I were on yonder plain.’—

‘Arise, arise, thou Little Musgrave,And put thy clothès on;It shall ne’er be said in my countryI have kill’d a naked man.

‘I have two swords in one scabbard,They are both sharp and clear;Take you the best, and I the worst,We’ll end the matter here.’

The first stroke Little Musgrave struck,He hurt Lord Barnard sore;The next stroke that Lord Barnard struck,Little Musgrave ne’er struck more.

With that bespake this fair lady,In bed where as she lay:‘Although thou’rt dead, thou Little Musgrave,Yet I for thee will pray.

‘And wish well to thy soul will ISo long as I have life;So will I not for thee, Barnard,Although I’m thy wedded wife.’

He cut her paps from off her breast;Great pity it was to seeThat some drops of this lady’s heart’s bloodRan trickling down her knee.

‘Woe worth you, woe worth, my merry men all,You were ne’er born for my good!Why did you not offer to stay my handWhen you saw me wax so wood[355]?

‘For I have slain the fairest ladyThat ever wore woman’s weed,Soe I have slain the fairest ladyThat ever did woman’s deed.

‘A grave, a grave,’ Lord Barnard cried,‘To put these lovers in!But lay my lady on the upper hand,For she comes of the nobler kin.’

FOOTNOTES:[353]pall = fine cloth.[354]lig = lie.[355]wood = mad, fierce.

[353]pall = fine cloth.

[354]lig = lie.

[355]wood = mad, fierce.

ILord Ingram and Childe VyetWere both born in one hall;Laid both their hearts on one lady;The worse did them befall.IILord Ingram woo’d Lady MaisryFrom father and from mother;Lord Ingram woo’d Lady MaisryFrom sister and from brother;IIILord Ingram woo’d Lady MaisryWith leave of all her kin;And every one gave full consent,But she said ‘no’ to him.IVNow it fell out, upon a dayShe was dressing of her head,That in did come her father dear,Wearing the gold so red.V‘Get up now, Lady Maisry,Put on your wedding-gown;For Lord Ingram he will be here,Your wedding must be done.’—VI‘I’d rather be Childe Vyet’s wife,The white fish for to sell,Before I were Lord Ingram’s wife,To wear the silk so well.VII‘I’d rather be Childe Vyet’s wife,With him to beg my bread,Before I were Lord Ingram’s wife,To wear the gold so red....VIII‘O where will I get a bonny boy,Will win gold to his fee,And will run unto Childe VyetWith this letter from me?’—IX‘O here I am, the boy,’ says one,‘Will win gold to my fee,And carry away any letterTo Childe Vyet from thee.’XThe first line that Childe Vyet read,A grievèd man was he;The next line that Childe Vyet read,A tear blinded his e’e.‘I wonder what ails my one brother,He’ll not let my love be!XI‘But I’ll send to my brother’s bridal—The gammons o’ the swine—With four and twenty buck and roe,And ten tun of the wine;And bid my love be blithe and glad,And I will follow syne.’XIIThere was no groom in that castleBut got a gown of green;And all was blithe, and all was glad,But Lady Maisry was neen[356].XIIIThere was no cook in that kitchenBut got a gown of grey;And all was blithe, and all was glad,But Lady Maisry was wae.XIVO sweetly play’d the merry organsWithin her mother’s bower;But dumb stood Lady Maisry,And let the tears down pour.XVO sweetly play’d the harp so fineWithin her father’s hall;But still stood Lady Maisry,And let the tears down fall.XVI’Tween Mary Kirk and the castleWas all spread o’er with garl[357],To keep Lady Maisry and her maidensFrom tramping on the marl.XVIIFrom Mary Kirk to the castleWas spread a cloth of gold,To keep Lady Maisry and her maidensFrom treading upon the mould.XVIIIWhen mass was sung, and bells were rung,And all men bound for bed,Lord Ingram and Lady MaisryIn one bed they were laid.XIXWhen they were laid into one bed,It was both soft and warm;He laid his hand over her side,Says, ‘I think you are with bairn.’—XX‘I told you once, so did I twice,When ye came for my wooer,That Childe Vyet, your one brother,One night lay in my bower.XXI‘I told you twice, I told you thrice,Ere ye came me to wed,That Childe Vyet, your one brother,One night lay in my bed.’—XXII‘O father your bairn on me, Maisry,And on no other man;And I’ll gie him to his dowryFull fifty ploughs of land.’—XXIII‘I will not father my bairn on you,Nor on no wrongeous man,Though ye’d give him to his dowryFive thousand ploughs of land.’XXIVHe has taken out his trusty swordAnd laid it between them tway;Says, ‘Lie you there, you ill woman,A maid for me till day.’XXVThen in it came him Childe Vyet,Shed back his yellow hair,And gave Lord Ingram to the heartA deep wound and a sair.XXVIThen up did start him Lord IngramShed back his coal-black hair,And gave Childe Vyet to the heartA deep wound and a sair.XXVIIThere was no pity for those two lords,In bower where they lay slain;But all was for Lady Maisry,In bower where she went brain[358].XXVIIISays, ‘If I have been an ill woman,Alas, and woe is me!And if I have been an ill woman,A good woman I’ll be.XXIX‘Ye’ll take from me my silk attire,Bring me a palmer’s weed;And for their sakes the world thoro’I’ll gang and beg my bread.XXX‘If I gang a step for Childe Vyet,For Lord Ingram I’ll gang three;All for the honour that he paidAt Mary Kirk to me.’

Lord Ingram and Childe VyetWere both born in one hall;Laid both their hearts on one lady;The worse did them befall.

Lord Ingram woo’d Lady MaisryFrom father and from mother;Lord Ingram woo’d Lady MaisryFrom sister and from brother;

Lord Ingram woo’d Lady MaisryWith leave of all her kin;And every one gave full consent,But she said ‘no’ to him.

Now it fell out, upon a dayShe was dressing of her head,That in did come her father dear,Wearing the gold so red.

‘Get up now, Lady Maisry,Put on your wedding-gown;For Lord Ingram he will be here,Your wedding must be done.’—

‘I’d rather be Childe Vyet’s wife,The white fish for to sell,Before I were Lord Ingram’s wife,To wear the silk so well.

‘I’d rather be Childe Vyet’s wife,With him to beg my bread,Before I were Lord Ingram’s wife,To wear the gold so red....

‘O where will I get a bonny boy,Will win gold to his fee,And will run unto Childe VyetWith this letter from me?’—

‘O here I am, the boy,’ says one,‘Will win gold to my fee,And carry away any letterTo Childe Vyet from thee.’

The first line that Childe Vyet read,A grievèd man was he;The next line that Childe Vyet read,A tear blinded his e’e.‘I wonder what ails my one brother,He’ll not let my love be!

‘But I’ll send to my brother’s bridal—The gammons o’ the swine—With four and twenty buck and roe,And ten tun of the wine;And bid my love be blithe and glad,And I will follow syne.’

There was no groom in that castleBut got a gown of green;And all was blithe, and all was glad,But Lady Maisry was neen[356].

There was no cook in that kitchenBut got a gown of grey;And all was blithe, and all was glad,But Lady Maisry was wae.

O sweetly play’d the merry organsWithin her mother’s bower;But dumb stood Lady Maisry,And let the tears down pour.

O sweetly play’d the harp so fineWithin her father’s hall;But still stood Lady Maisry,And let the tears down fall.

’Tween Mary Kirk and the castleWas all spread o’er with garl[357],To keep Lady Maisry and her maidensFrom tramping on the marl.

From Mary Kirk to the castleWas spread a cloth of gold,To keep Lady Maisry and her maidensFrom treading upon the mould.

When mass was sung, and bells were rung,And all men bound for bed,Lord Ingram and Lady MaisryIn one bed they were laid.

When they were laid into one bed,It was both soft and warm;He laid his hand over her side,Says, ‘I think you are with bairn.’—

‘I told you once, so did I twice,When ye came for my wooer,That Childe Vyet, your one brother,One night lay in my bower.

‘I told you twice, I told you thrice,Ere ye came me to wed,That Childe Vyet, your one brother,One night lay in my bed.’—

‘O father your bairn on me, Maisry,And on no other man;And I’ll gie him to his dowryFull fifty ploughs of land.’—

‘I will not father my bairn on you,Nor on no wrongeous man,Though ye’d give him to his dowryFive thousand ploughs of land.’

He has taken out his trusty swordAnd laid it between them tway;Says, ‘Lie you there, you ill woman,A maid for me till day.’

Then in it came him Childe Vyet,Shed back his yellow hair,And gave Lord Ingram to the heartA deep wound and a sair.

Then up did start him Lord IngramShed back his coal-black hair,And gave Childe Vyet to the heartA deep wound and a sair.

There was no pity for those two lords,In bower where they lay slain;But all was for Lady Maisry,In bower where she went brain[358].

Says, ‘If I have been an ill woman,Alas, and woe is me!And if I have been an ill woman,A good woman I’ll be.

‘Ye’ll take from me my silk attire,Bring me a palmer’s weed;And for their sakes the world thoro’I’ll gang and beg my bread.

‘If I gang a step for Childe Vyet,For Lord Ingram I’ll gang three;All for the honour that he paidAt Mary Kirk to me.’

FOOTNOTES:[356]neen = none, not.[357]garl =? gravel.[358]brain = mad.

[356]neen = none, not.

[357]garl =? gravel.

[358]brain = mad.

I‘Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,Ye maun gang to him sune;Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,In case that his days are dune.’IIJanet’s awa’ to her fatherAs fast as she could hie:‘O what’s your will wi’ me, father?O what’s your will wi’ me?’—III‘My will wi’ you, Fair Janet,’ he said,‘It is both bed and board;Some say that ye love Sweet Willie,But ye maun wed a French lord.’IVJanet’s awa to her chamberAs fast as she could go;Wha’s the first ane that tappèd there,But Sweet Willie her jo[359]?V‘O we maun part this love, Willie,That has been lang between;There’s a French lord coming o’er the seaTo wed me wi’ a ring.’—VI‘If we maun part this love, Janet,It causeth mickle woe;If we maun part this love, Janet,It makes me in mourning go.’—VII‘But ye maun gang to your three sisters,Meg, Marion and Jean;Tell them to come to Fair Janet,In case that her days are dune.’VIIIWillie’s awa’ to his three sisters,Meg, Marion and Jean:‘O haste and gang to Fair Janet,I fear that her days are dune!’IXSome drew to them their silken hose,Some drew to them their shoon,Some drew to them their silk manteils,Their coverings to put on;And they’re awa’ to Fair JanetBy the hie light o’ the moon....X‘O I have borne this babe, Willie,Wi’ mickle toil and pain;Take hame, take hame your babe, Willie,For nurse I dare be nane.’XIHe’s ta’en his young son in his armsAnd kiss’d him cheek and chin,And he’s awa’ to his mother’s bowerBy the hie light o’ the moon.XII‘O open, open, mother!’ he says,‘O open, and let me in!The rain rains on my yellow hairAnd the dew drops o’er my chin;And I hae my young son in my arms,—I fear that his days are dune.’XIIIThen with her fingers long and sma’She lifted up the pin,And with her arms sae long and sma’Received the baby in.XIV‘Gae back, gae back now, Sweet Willie,And comfort your fair ladye;For where ye had but ae nouriceYour young son shall hae three.’XVWillie he was scarce awa’And Janet put to bed,When in and came her father dear:‘Mak’ haste, and busk[360]the bride!’—XVI‘There’s a sair pain in my head, father,There’s a sair pain in my side;And ill, O ill I am, father,This day for to be a bride!’—XVII‘O ye maun busk this bonny bride,And put a gay mantle on;For she shall wed this auld French lord,Gin she should die this morn.’XVIIISome put on the gay green robes,And some put on the brown;But Janet put on the scarlet robes,Shone foremost thro’ the town.XIXAnd some they mounted the black steed,And some mounted the brown;But Janet mounted the milk-white steed,Rode foremost thro’ the town.XX‘O wha will guide your horse, Janet?O wha will guide him best?’—‘O wha but Willie, my true-love?He kens I love him best.’XXIAnd when they came to Mary’s kirkTo tie the holy ban’,Fair Janet’s colour gaed and came,And her cheek look’d pale and wan.XXIIWhen dinner it was past and done,And dancing to begin,‘O we’ll go take the bride’s maidens,And we’ll go fill the ring.’XXIIIO ben then came the auld French lord,Saying, ‘Bride, will ye dance wi’ me?’—‘Awa’, awa’, ye auld French lord!Your face I downa see.’XXIVO ben then came Sweet Willie,He came with ane advance:‘O I’ll go tak’ the bride’s maidens,And we’ll go tak’ a dance.’—XXV‘I’ve seen ither days wi’ you, Willie,And so has mony mae[361],Ye would hae danced wi’ me mysel’,Let a’ my maidens gae.’XXVIO ben now came Sweet Willie,Saying, ‘Bride, will ye dance wi’ me?’—‘Ay, by my sooth, and that I willGin my back should break in three.’XXVIIShe hadna danced her o’er the floor,She hadna turn’d but thrice,When she fell doun at Willie’s feet,And up did never rise.XXVIIIWillie’s ta’en the key of his cofferAnd gi’en it to his man:‘Gae hame, and tell my mother dearMy horse he has me slain;And bid her be kind to my young son,For father he has nane.’

‘Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,Ye maun gang to him sune;Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,In case that his days are dune.’

Janet’s awa’ to her fatherAs fast as she could hie:‘O what’s your will wi’ me, father?O what’s your will wi’ me?’—

‘My will wi’ you, Fair Janet,’ he said,‘It is both bed and board;Some say that ye love Sweet Willie,But ye maun wed a French lord.’

Janet’s awa to her chamberAs fast as she could go;Wha’s the first ane that tappèd there,But Sweet Willie her jo[359]?

‘O we maun part this love, Willie,That has been lang between;There’s a French lord coming o’er the seaTo wed me wi’ a ring.’—

‘If we maun part this love, Janet,It causeth mickle woe;If we maun part this love, Janet,It makes me in mourning go.’—

‘But ye maun gang to your three sisters,Meg, Marion and Jean;Tell them to come to Fair Janet,In case that her days are dune.’

Willie’s awa’ to his three sisters,Meg, Marion and Jean:‘O haste and gang to Fair Janet,I fear that her days are dune!’

Some drew to them their silken hose,Some drew to them their shoon,Some drew to them their silk manteils,Their coverings to put on;And they’re awa’ to Fair JanetBy the hie light o’ the moon....

‘O I have borne this babe, Willie,Wi’ mickle toil and pain;Take hame, take hame your babe, Willie,For nurse I dare be nane.’

He’s ta’en his young son in his armsAnd kiss’d him cheek and chin,And he’s awa’ to his mother’s bowerBy the hie light o’ the moon.

‘O open, open, mother!’ he says,‘O open, and let me in!The rain rains on my yellow hairAnd the dew drops o’er my chin;And I hae my young son in my arms,—I fear that his days are dune.’

Then with her fingers long and sma’She lifted up the pin,And with her arms sae long and sma’Received the baby in.

‘Gae back, gae back now, Sweet Willie,And comfort your fair ladye;For where ye had but ae nouriceYour young son shall hae three.’

Willie he was scarce awa’And Janet put to bed,When in and came her father dear:‘Mak’ haste, and busk[360]the bride!’—

‘There’s a sair pain in my head, father,There’s a sair pain in my side;And ill, O ill I am, father,This day for to be a bride!’—

‘O ye maun busk this bonny bride,And put a gay mantle on;For she shall wed this auld French lord,Gin she should die this morn.’

Some put on the gay green robes,And some put on the brown;But Janet put on the scarlet robes,Shone foremost thro’ the town.

And some they mounted the black steed,And some mounted the brown;But Janet mounted the milk-white steed,Rode foremost thro’ the town.

‘O wha will guide your horse, Janet?O wha will guide him best?’—‘O wha but Willie, my true-love?He kens I love him best.’

And when they came to Mary’s kirkTo tie the holy ban’,Fair Janet’s colour gaed and came,And her cheek look’d pale and wan.

When dinner it was past and done,And dancing to begin,‘O we’ll go take the bride’s maidens,And we’ll go fill the ring.’

O ben then came the auld French lord,Saying, ‘Bride, will ye dance wi’ me?’—‘Awa’, awa’, ye auld French lord!Your face I downa see.’

O ben then came Sweet Willie,He came with ane advance:‘O I’ll go tak’ the bride’s maidens,And we’ll go tak’ a dance.’—

‘I’ve seen ither days wi’ you, Willie,And so has mony mae[361],Ye would hae danced wi’ me mysel’,Let a’ my maidens gae.’

O ben now came Sweet Willie,Saying, ‘Bride, will ye dance wi’ me?’—‘Ay, by my sooth, and that I willGin my back should break in three.’

She hadna danced her o’er the floor,She hadna turn’d but thrice,When she fell doun at Willie’s feet,And up did never rise.

Willie’s ta’en the key of his cofferAnd gi’en it to his man:‘Gae hame, and tell my mother dearMy horse he has me slain;And bid her be kind to my young son,For father he has nane.’

FOOTNOTES:[359]jo = sweetheart.[360]busk = array.[361]mae = more.

[359]jo = sweetheart.

[360]busk = array.

[361]mae = more.

IGod! let never soe old a manMarry soe young a wifeAs did old Robin of Portingale!He may rue all the days of his life.IIFor the Mayor’s daughter of Lin, God wot,He chose her to his wife,And thought to have lived in quietnesseWith her all the dayes of his life.IIIThey had not in their wed-bed laid,Scarcely were both on sleepe,But up she rose, and forth she goesTo Sir Gyles, and fast can weepe.IVSaies, ‘Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?Or be you not within?[Or hear you not your true loveThat tirleth at the pin?’]—V‘But I am waking, sweete,’ he said,‘Lady, what is your will?’—I have unbethought[362]me of a wileHow my wed lord we shall spill.VI‘Four and twenty knights,’ she sayes,‘That dwells about this towne,E’en four and twenty of my next cozensWill help to ding[363]him downe.’VIIWith that beheard his little foot-page,Was watering his master’s steed;Soe [sore a hearing it was to him]His very heart did bleed.VIIIHe mournèd, sikt[364], and wept full sore;I swear by the Holy RoodThe teares he for his master weptWere blent water and bloude.IXWith that beheard his dear mastèrAs he in his garden sate;Sayes, ‘Ever alack, my little page,What causes thee to weepe?X‘Hath any one done to thee wronge,Any of thy fellowes here?Or is any of thy good friends dead,What makes thee shed such teares?XI‘Or if it be my head-cookes-manGriev’d againe[365]he shall be,Nor noe man within my houseShall doe wrong unto thee.’—XII‘But it is not your head-cookes-man,Nor none of his degree;But or tomorrow, ere it be nooneYou are deemèd[366]to die.XIII‘And of that thanke your head-steward,And, after, your ladie fair.’—‘If it be true, my little foot-page,Of my land I’ll make thee heir.’—XIV‘If it be not true, my deare master,God let me never thye[367].’—‘If it be not true, thou little foot-page,A dead corse shalt thou be.’XVHe callèd down his head-cookes-manIn kitchen supper to dress;‘All and anon, my deere master!Anon at your request!’—XVI[‘Let supper be drest, and of the bestLet it preparèd be]And call you downe my faire lady,This night to supp with mee.’XVIIAnd downe then came that fair lady,’Was clad all in purple and palle[368];The rings that were upon her fingersCast light thorrow the hall.XVIII‘What is your will, my owne wed lord,What is your will with mee?’—‘’Tis I am sicke, fayre lady,Sore sicke and like to dye.’—XIX‘But an you be sicke, my owne wed lord,Soe sore it grieveth mee;But my five maidens and my selfe[Will bedd you presentlye].XX‘And at the waking of your first sleepeYou shall have a hott drinke made,And at the waking of your next sleepeYour sorrowes will have a slake.’XXIHe put a silk cote on his backe’Was thirteen inches folde,And put a steele cap upon his head’Was gilded with good red gold.XXIIAnd he layd a bright browne sword by his side,And another at his feete,And full well knew Old Robin thenWhether he shold wake or sleepe.XXIIIAnd about the middle time of the nightCame twenty-four Knights in;Sir Gyles he was the foremost man,Soe well he knew that ginne[369].XXIVOld Robin with a bright browne swordSir Gyles’ head he did winne,Soe did he all those twenty-four,Ne’er a one went quicke[370]out [agen];XXVNone but one little foot-pageCrept forth at a window of stone;And he had two armes when he came inAnd [when he went out he had one].XXVIUpp then came that ladie light,With torches burning bright;Shee thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke,But shee found her owne wed Knight.XXVIIAnd the first thing that shee stumbled uponWas of Sir Gyles his foote;Sayes, ‘Ever alacke, and woe is me,Here lies my sweet hart-roote[371]!’XXVIIIAnd the second thing shee stumbled uponWas of Sir Gyles his head;Sayes, ‘Ever alacke, and woe is me,Here lyes my true-love deade!’XXIXHe cut the papps beside her brest,And bade her wish her will;And he cutt the eares beside her heade,And bade her wish on still.XXX‘Mickle is the men’s blood I have spentTo doe thee and me some good’;Sayes, ‘Ever alacke, my fayre lady,I thinke that I was woode[372]!’XXXIAnd he shope[373]the cross on his right sho’lderOf the white flesh and the redd,And he went him into the Holy Land,Wheras Christ was quicke and deade.

God! let never soe old a manMarry soe young a wifeAs did old Robin of Portingale!He may rue all the days of his life.

For the Mayor’s daughter of Lin, God wot,He chose her to his wife,And thought to have lived in quietnesseWith her all the dayes of his life.

They had not in their wed-bed laid,Scarcely were both on sleepe,But up she rose, and forth she goesTo Sir Gyles, and fast can weepe.

Saies, ‘Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?Or be you not within?[Or hear you not your true loveThat tirleth at the pin?’]—

‘But I am waking, sweete,’ he said,‘Lady, what is your will?’—I have unbethought[362]me of a wileHow my wed lord we shall spill.

‘Four and twenty knights,’ she sayes,‘That dwells about this towne,E’en four and twenty of my next cozensWill help to ding[363]him downe.’

With that beheard his little foot-page,Was watering his master’s steed;Soe [sore a hearing it was to him]His very heart did bleed.

He mournèd, sikt[364], and wept full sore;I swear by the Holy RoodThe teares he for his master weptWere blent water and bloude.

With that beheard his dear mastèrAs he in his garden sate;Sayes, ‘Ever alack, my little page,What causes thee to weepe?

‘Hath any one done to thee wronge,Any of thy fellowes here?Or is any of thy good friends dead,What makes thee shed such teares?

‘Or if it be my head-cookes-manGriev’d againe[365]he shall be,Nor noe man within my houseShall doe wrong unto thee.’—

‘But it is not your head-cookes-man,Nor none of his degree;But or tomorrow, ere it be nooneYou are deemèd[366]to die.

‘And of that thanke your head-steward,And, after, your ladie fair.’—‘If it be true, my little foot-page,Of my land I’ll make thee heir.’—

‘If it be not true, my deare master,God let me never thye[367].’—‘If it be not true, thou little foot-page,A dead corse shalt thou be.’

He callèd down his head-cookes-manIn kitchen supper to dress;‘All and anon, my deere master!Anon at your request!’—

[‘Let supper be drest, and of the bestLet it preparèd be]And call you downe my faire lady,This night to supp with mee.’

And downe then came that fair lady,’Was clad all in purple and palle[368];The rings that were upon her fingersCast light thorrow the hall.

‘What is your will, my owne wed lord,What is your will with mee?’—‘’Tis I am sicke, fayre lady,Sore sicke and like to dye.’—

‘But an you be sicke, my owne wed lord,Soe sore it grieveth mee;But my five maidens and my selfe[Will bedd you presentlye].

‘And at the waking of your first sleepeYou shall have a hott drinke made,And at the waking of your next sleepeYour sorrowes will have a slake.’

He put a silk cote on his backe’Was thirteen inches folde,And put a steele cap upon his head’Was gilded with good red gold.

And he layd a bright browne sword by his side,And another at his feete,And full well knew Old Robin thenWhether he shold wake or sleepe.

And about the middle time of the nightCame twenty-four Knights in;Sir Gyles he was the foremost man,Soe well he knew that ginne[369].

Old Robin with a bright browne swordSir Gyles’ head he did winne,Soe did he all those twenty-four,Ne’er a one went quicke[370]out [agen];

None but one little foot-pageCrept forth at a window of stone;And he had two armes when he came inAnd [when he went out he had one].

Upp then came that ladie light,With torches burning bright;Shee thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke,But shee found her owne wed Knight.

And the first thing that shee stumbled uponWas of Sir Gyles his foote;Sayes, ‘Ever alacke, and woe is me,Here lies my sweet hart-roote[371]!’

And the second thing shee stumbled uponWas of Sir Gyles his head;Sayes, ‘Ever alacke, and woe is me,Here lyes my true-love deade!’

He cut the papps beside her brest,And bade her wish her will;And he cutt the eares beside her heade,And bade her wish on still.

‘Mickle is the men’s blood I have spentTo doe thee and me some good’;Sayes, ‘Ever alacke, my fayre lady,I thinke that I was woode[372]!’

And he shope[373]the cross on his right sho’lderOf the white flesh and the redd,And he went him into the Holy Land,Wheras Christ was quicke and deade.

FOOTNOTES:[362]unbethought = bethought.[363]ding = smite.[364]sikt = sighed.[365]againe = in return.[366]deemèd = doomed.[367]thye = thrive.[368]palle = fine cloth.[369]ginne = gin, contrivance, here a door-latch.[370]quicke = alive.[371]hart-roote = heart-root, dear one.[372]woode = mad.[373]shope = shaped, made.

[362]unbethought = bethought.

[363]ding = smite.

[364]sikt = sighed.

[365]againe = in return.

[366]deemèd = doomed.

[367]thye = thrive.

[368]palle = fine cloth.

[369]ginne = gin, contrivance, here a door-latch.

[370]quicke = alive.

[371]hart-roote = heart-root, dear one.

[372]woode = mad.

[373]shope = shaped, made.

ILord Thomas and Fair AnnetSat all day on a hill;When night was come, and sun was set,They had not talk’d their fill.IILord Thomas said a word in jest,Fair Annet took it ill:‘I’ll never wed a tocherless[374]maidAgainst my ain friends’ will.’—III‘Gif ye’ll not wed a tocherless wife,A wife will ne’er wed ye:Fare ye well now, Lord Thomas,It’s fare ye well a wee.’IVO Annet she’s gane till her bower,Lord Thomas down the den;And he’s come till his mither’s bowerBy the lee[375]light o’ the moon.V‘O sleep ye, wake ye, mither?’ he says,‘Or are ye the bower within?’—‘I sleep right aft, I wake right aft;What want ye with me, son?VI‘Where have ye been a’ night, Thomas?O wow, ye’ve tarried long!’—‘I have been courtin’ Fair Annet,And she is frae me gone.VII‘O rede[376], O rede, mither,’ he says,‘A gude rede gie to me:O sall I tak’ the nut-brown bride,And let Fair Annet be?’—VIII‘The nut-brown bride has gold and gear,Fair Annet she’s got nane;And the little beauty Fair Annet hasO it will soon be gane.IX‘It’s an’ ye wed the nut-brown bride,I’ll heap gold wi’ my hand;But an’ ye wed her, Fair Annet,I’ll straik[377]it wi’ a wand.X‘The nut-brown bride has sheep and kye,Fair Annet she’s got nane;Son Thomas, for my benisonBring ye the brown bride hame.’—XI‘But alas, alas!’ says Lord Thomas,‘O fair is Annet’s face!’—‘But what matter for that, son Thomas?She has nae ither grace.’—XII‘Alas, alas!’ says Lord Thomas,‘But white is Annet’s hand!’—‘What matter for that, son Thomas?She has not a fur’[378]o’ land.’—XIII‘Sheep will die in cots, mither,And owsen[379]die in byre;And what is warldis wealth to me,An’ I getna my heart’s desire?’XIVAnd he has till his sister gane:‘Now, sister, rede ye me;O sall I marry the nut-brown brideAnd set Fair Annet free?’—XV‘I’se rede ye tak’ Fair Annet, Thomas,And let the brown bride alane,Lest ye should sigh and say Alas!What is this we brought hame?’—XVI‘No, I will tak’ my mither’s counsel,And marry me out of hand;And I will tak’ the nut-brown bride;Fair Annet may leave the land.’XVIIUp then rose Fair Annet’s fatherTwa hours or it were day,And he is gone to Fair Annet,To the bower wherein she lay.XVIII‘Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,’ he says,‘Put on your silken sheen;Ye are bidden come to St. Mary’s Kirk,To see a rich weddin’.’...XIX‘My maids, gae to my dressing-roomAnd dress to me my hair;Where’er ye laid a plait beforeSee ye lay ten times mair.XX‘My maids gae to my dressing-roomAnd dress to me my smock,The one half is o’ the holland fine,The other o’ needle-work.’XXIAt yae[380]tett[381]o’ her horse’s maneWas tied a silver bell,And yae tift[382]o’ the norland windIt gar’d them a’ to knell.XXIIFour and twenty gay good knightsRade by Fair Annet’s side,And four and twenty fair ladiesAs gin she had been a bride.XXIIIAnd when she came to Mary’s Kirk,She shimmer’d like the sun;The belt that was about her waistWas a’ wi’ pearls bedone[383].XXIVAnd when she came to Mary’s Kirk,And sat down in the deas[384],The cleiding[385]that Fair Annet had onEnlighten’d a’ that place.XXVShe sat her by the nut-brown bride,And her e’en they were sae clear,Lord Thomas he clean forgat the brideWhen Fair Annet drew near.XXVIHe had a rose into his hand,He gave it kisses three,And reaching by the nut-brown bride,Laid it on Annet’s knee.XXVII‘O wha is this, my father dear,Blinks in Lord Thomas’s e’e?’—‘O this Lord Thomas’s first true-loveBefore he lovèd thee.’XXVIIIUp then spake the nut-brown bride—She spake wi’ mickle spite:‘And where gat ye the rose-waterThat washes thy face so white?’—XXIX‘O I did get my rose-waterWhere ye will ne’er get nane,For I did get that very rose-waterInto my mither’s wame[386].’XXXThe bride she drew a long bodkinFrae out her gay head-gear,And strake Fair Annet to the heart,That word spak’ never mair.XXXI‘O Christ thee save!’ Lord Thomas he said,‘Methinks thou look’st wondrous wan;Thou was used to look with as fresh a colourAs ever the sun shined on.’XXXII‘O art thou blind, Lord Thomas?’ she said,‘Or canst thou not very well see?Or dost thou not see my own heart’s bloodRuns trickling down my knee?’XXXIIILord Thomas he saw Fair Annet was pale,And marvellèd what mote be;But when he saw her dear heart’s blood,All wood-wroth[387]waxèd he.XXXIVHe drew his dagger frae his side,That was so sharp and meet,And drave it into the nut-brown bride,That fell dead at his feet.XXXV‘Now stay for me, dear Annet,’ he said,‘Now stay, my dear!’ he cried;Then strake the dagger untill his heart,And fell dead by her side.

Lord Thomas and Fair AnnetSat all day on a hill;When night was come, and sun was set,They had not talk’d their fill.

Lord Thomas said a word in jest,Fair Annet took it ill:‘I’ll never wed a tocherless[374]maidAgainst my ain friends’ will.’—

‘Gif ye’ll not wed a tocherless wife,A wife will ne’er wed ye:Fare ye well now, Lord Thomas,It’s fare ye well a wee.’

O Annet she’s gane till her bower,Lord Thomas down the den;And he’s come till his mither’s bowerBy the lee[375]light o’ the moon.

‘O sleep ye, wake ye, mither?’ he says,‘Or are ye the bower within?’—‘I sleep right aft, I wake right aft;What want ye with me, son?

‘Where have ye been a’ night, Thomas?O wow, ye’ve tarried long!’—‘I have been courtin’ Fair Annet,And she is frae me gone.

‘O rede[376], O rede, mither,’ he says,‘A gude rede gie to me:O sall I tak’ the nut-brown bride,And let Fair Annet be?’—

‘The nut-brown bride has gold and gear,Fair Annet she’s got nane;And the little beauty Fair Annet hasO it will soon be gane.

‘It’s an’ ye wed the nut-brown bride,I’ll heap gold wi’ my hand;But an’ ye wed her, Fair Annet,I’ll straik[377]it wi’ a wand.

‘The nut-brown bride has sheep and kye,Fair Annet she’s got nane;Son Thomas, for my benisonBring ye the brown bride hame.’—

‘But alas, alas!’ says Lord Thomas,‘O fair is Annet’s face!’—‘But what matter for that, son Thomas?She has nae ither grace.’—

‘Alas, alas!’ says Lord Thomas,‘But white is Annet’s hand!’—‘What matter for that, son Thomas?She has not a fur’[378]o’ land.’—

‘Sheep will die in cots, mither,And owsen[379]die in byre;And what is warldis wealth to me,An’ I getna my heart’s desire?’

And he has till his sister gane:‘Now, sister, rede ye me;O sall I marry the nut-brown brideAnd set Fair Annet free?’—

‘I’se rede ye tak’ Fair Annet, Thomas,And let the brown bride alane,Lest ye should sigh and say Alas!What is this we brought hame?’—

‘No, I will tak’ my mither’s counsel,And marry me out of hand;And I will tak’ the nut-brown bride;Fair Annet may leave the land.’

Up then rose Fair Annet’s fatherTwa hours or it were day,And he is gone to Fair Annet,To the bower wherein she lay.

‘Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,’ he says,‘Put on your silken sheen;Ye are bidden come to St. Mary’s Kirk,To see a rich weddin’.’...

‘My maids, gae to my dressing-roomAnd dress to me my hair;Where’er ye laid a plait beforeSee ye lay ten times mair.

‘My maids gae to my dressing-roomAnd dress to me my smock,The one half is o’ the holland fine,The other o’ needle-work.’

At yae[380]tett[381]o’ her horse’s maneWas tied a silver bell,And yae tift[382]o’ the norland windIt gar’d them a’ to knell.

Four and twenty gay good knightsRade by Fair Annet’s side,And four and twenty fair ladiesAs gin she had been a bride.

And when she came to Mary’s Kirk,She shimmer’d like the sun;The belt that was about her waistWas a’ wi’ pearls bedone[383].

And when she came to Mary’s Kirk,And sat down in the deas[384],The cleiding[385]that Fair Annet had onEnlighten’d a’ that place.

She sat her by the nut-brown bride,And her e’en they were sae clear,Lord Thomas he clean forgat the brideWhen Fair Annet drew near.

He had a rose into his hand,He gave it kisses three,And reaching by the nut-brown bride,Laid it on Annet’s knee.

‘O wha is this, my father dear,Blinks in Lord Thomas’s e’e?’—‘O this Lord Thomas’s first true-loveBefore he lovèd thee.’

Up then spake the nut-brown bride—She spake wi’ mickle spite:‘And where gat ye the rose-waterThat washes thy face so white?’—

‘O I did get my rose-waterWhere ye will ne’er get nane,For I did get that very rose-waterInto my mither’s wame[386].’

The bride she drew a long bodkinFrae out her gay head-gear,And strake Fair Annet to the heart,That word spak’ never mair.

‘O Christ thee save!’ Lord Thomas he said,‘Methinks thou look’st wondrous wan;Thou was used to look with as fresh a colourAs ever the sun shined on.’

‘O art thou blind, Lord Thomas?’ she said,‘Or canst thou not very well see?Or dost thou not see my own heart’s bloodRuns trickling down my knee?’

Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet was pale,And marvellèd what mote be;But when he saw her dear heart’s blood,All wood-wroth[387]waxèd he.

He drew his dagger frae his side,That was so sharp and meet,And drave it into the nut-brown bride,That fell dead at his feet.

‘Now stay for me, dear Annet,’ he said,‘Now stay, my dear!’ he cried;Then strake the dagger untill his heart,And fell dead by her side.

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