FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[374]tocherless = without a dowry.[375]lee = calm, pleasant.[376]rede = counsel.[377]straik = stroke, as one might smooth over the top of a bushel of corn to make it bare measure.[378]fur’ = furrow.[379]owsen = oxen.[380]yae = each.[381]tett = tuft.[382]tift = puff, whiff.[383]bedone = adorned.[384]deas = daïs, pew.[385]cleiding = clothing.[386]wame = womb.[387]wood-wroth = mad with rage.

[374]tocherless = without a dowry.

[375]lee = calm, pleasant.

[376]rede = counsel.

[377]straik = stroke, as one might smooth over the top of a bushel of corn to make it bare measure.

[378]fur’ = furrow.

[379]owsen = oxen.

[380]yae = each.

[381]tett = tuft.

[382]tift = puff, whiff.

[383]bedone = adorned.

[384]deas = daïs, pew.

[385]cleiding = clothing.

[386]wame = womb.

[387]wood-wroth = mad with rage.

IO Rose the Red and White Lilly,Their mother dear was dead,And their father married an ill womanWish’d them twa little gude.IIYet she had twa as fu’ fair sonsAs e’er brake manis bread;And Bold Arthur he lo’ed her White LillyAnd Brown Robin Rose the Red.IIIO they hae biggit a bigly[388]tow’r,And strawn it o’er wi’ sand;There was mair mirth i’ these ladies’ bow’rThan in a’ their father’s land.IVBut out and spake their step-mither,At the stair-foot stood she:‘I’m plaguit wi’ your troublesome noise!What makes[389]your melodie?V‘O Rose the Red, ye sing too loud,White Lilly, your voice is strang:But gin I live and bruik[390]my life,I’ll gar ye change your sang.’VIShe’s call’d her son, Brown Robin,‘Come hither, my son, to me;It fears me sair, my eldest son,That ye maun sail the sea.’—VII‘Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,Your bidding I maun dee;But be never warse to Rose the RedThan ye ha’ been to me.’—VIII‘O haud your tongue, my eldest son,For sma’ sall be her part;You’ll ne’er get kiss o’ her comely mouth,Tho’ you sh’uld break your heart.’IXShe’s call’d her son, Bold Arthur:‘Come hither, my son, to me;It fears me sair, my youngest son,That ye maun sail the sea.’—X‘Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,Your bidding I maun dee;But be never warse to White LillyThan ye ha’ been to me.’—XI‘O haud your tongue, my yongest son,For sma’ sall be her part;You’ll ne’er get kiss o’ White Lilly’s mouthTho’ it break your very heart.’XIIWhen Rose the Red and White LillySaw their twa loves were gane,Then stoppit ha’ they their loud, loud sangFor and the still mournin’:And their step-mither stood forbye,To hear the maiden’s mane[391].XIIIThen out it spake her White Lilly:‘My sister, we’ll be gane;Why should we stay in BurnèsdaleTo waste our youth in pain?’XIVThen cuttit ha’ they their green clothingA little below their knee,And sae ha’ they their yellow hairA little abune their bree[392];And they’re do’en them to haly chapel,Was christen’d by Our Ladye.XVThere ha’ they changed their ain twa names,Sae far frae ony town;And the tane o’ them hight[393]Sweet Willy,And the tither Roge the Roun[394].XVIBetween this twa a vow was made,And they sware it to fulfil;That at three blasts o’ a bugle-hornShe’d come her sister till.XVIINow Sweet Willy’s gane to the Kingis court,Her true-love there to see,And Roge the Roun to good green-wood,Brown Robin’s man to be.XVIIIAs it fell out upon a dayThey a’ did put the stane,Fu’ seven feet ayont them a’She gar’d the puttin’-stane gang.XIXShe lean’d her back against an oak,And ga’e a loud Ohone!Then out it spake him Brown Robin,‘But that’s a woman’s moan!’XX‘O ken ye by my red rose lip?Or by my yallow hair?Or ken ye by my milk-white breast?For ye never saw it bare.’XXI‘I ken no by your red rose lip,Nor by your yallow hair;Nor ken I by your milk-white breast,For I never saw it bare;But come to your bow’r whaever sae likesWill find a lady there.’XXIIAbout the tenth hour of the nightThe lady’s bow’r-door was broken;And ere the first hour of the nightThe bonny knave-bairn[395]was gotten.XXIIIWhen days were gane, and months were run,Rose the Red took travailing;And sair she cried for a bow’r-woman,Her pine[396]to wait upon.XXIVThen out it spake him Brown Robin:‘Now what needs a’ this din?For what cou’d any woman doBut I cou’d do the same?’—XXV‘It was never my mither’s fashion,Nor sall it e’er be mine,That belted Knights shou’d e’er stand byWhere ladies dreed[397]their pine.XXVI‘But tak’ ye up my bugle-horn,And blaw three blasts for me;I’ve a brither in the Kingis courtWill come me quickly ti’.’—XXVII‘O gin ye hae a brither on earthThat ye love better nor me,Ye blaw the horn yoursel’,’ he says,‘For ae blast I’ll not gie.’XXVIIIShe set the horn untill her mouth,And blawn three blasts sae shrill;Sweet Willy heard i’ the Kingis court,And came her quickly till....XXIX[Word is to the kitchen gane,And word is to the ha’,Bold Arthur’s lost his little foot-page,To the green-wood stown awa’.]XXXAnd word has gane to the Kingis court,To the King himsel’ [at dine]‘Now, by my fay,’ the King can say,[‘Sweet Willy we maun find.’]XXXI‘Bring me my steed,’ then cry’d the King,‘My bow and arrows keen;I’ll ride mysel’ to good green-woodAn’ see what’s to be seen.’XXXII‘An’t please your grace,’ says Bold Arthur,‘My liege I’ll gang you wi’,An’ try to find my little foot-pageThat’s stray’d awa’ frae me.’XXXIIIO they have hunted in good green-woodThe back but and the rae.And they’ve drawn near Brown Robin’s bow’rAbout the close of day.XXXIVThen out it spak’ the King in haste,Says, ‘Arthur, look an’ seeGin that be no your little foot-pageThat leans against yon tree?’XXXVBold Arthur took his bugle-horn,And blew a blast sae shrill,Sweet Willy started at the soundAnd ran him quickly till.XXXVI‘O wanted ye your meat, Willy?Or wanted ye your fee?Or get ye ever an angry word,That ye ran awa’ frae me?’—XXXVII‘I wanted nought, my master dear;To me ye aye was good;I came but to see my ae britherThat wons[398]in this green-wood.’XXXVIIIThen out and spak’ the King again,Says, ‘Bonny boy, tell to meWho lives into yon bigly bow’r,Stands by yon green oak-tree?’XXXIX‘O pardon me,’ says Sweet Willy,‘My liege, I daurna tell;And I pray you go no near that bow’r,For fear they do you fell[399].’—XL‘O haud your tongue, my bonny boy.For I winna be said nay;But I will gang that bow’r within,Betide me weal or wae.’XLIThey’ve lighted off their milk-white steeds,And saftly enter’d in;And then they saw her, Rose the Red,Nursing her bonny young son.XLII‘Now, by the rood,’ the King could say,‘This is a comely sight;I trow, instead of a forrester,This is a lady bright!’XLIIIThen out it spake White LillyAnd fell down on her knee:‘O pardon us, my gracious liege,An’ our story I’ll tell to thee.XLIV‘Our father was a wealthy lord,That wonn’d in Barnèsdale;But we had a wicked step-mother,That wrought us mickle bale[400].XLV‘Yet she had twa as fu’ fair sonsAs ever the sun did see;An’ the tane o’ them lo’ed my sister dear,An’ the tother said he lo’ed me.’XLVIThen out and spak’ him Bold Arthur,As by the King he stood,‘Now, this should be my White Lilly,An’ that should be Rose the Red!’XLVIIThen in it came him Brown RobinFrae hunting o’ the deer,But whan he saw the King was there,He started back for fear.XLVIIIThe King has ta’en him by the handAnd bade him naething dread;Says, ‘Ye maun leave the good green-wood,Come to the court wi’ speed.’XLIXThen up he took Brown Robin’s son,And set him on his knee;Says, ‘Gin ye live to wield a bran’,My bowman ye sall be.’LThe King he sent for robes o’ green,And girdles o’ shining gold;He gart the ladies be array’dMost comely to behold.LIThey’ve doen them unto Mary Kirk,And there gat fair weddìng,And whan the news spread o’er the lan’,For joy the bells did ring.LIIThen out it spak’ her Rose the Red,And a hearty laugh laugh’d she;‘I wonder what would our step-dame say,Gin she this sight did see!’

O Rose the Red and White Lilly,Their mother dear was dead,And their father married an ill womanWish’d them twa little gude.

Yet she had twa as fu’ fair sonsAs e’er brake manis bread;And Bold Arthur he lo’ed her White LillyAnd Brown Robin Rose the Red.

O they hae biggit a bigly[388]tow’r,And strawn it o’er wi’ sand;There was mair mirth i’ these ladies’ bow’rThan in a’ their father’s land.

But out and spake their step-mither,At the stair-foot stood she:‘I’m plaguit wi’ your troublesome noise!What makes[389]your melodie?

‘O Rose the Red, ye sing too loud,White Lilly, your voice is strang:But gin I live and bruik[390]my life,I’ll gar ye change your sang.’

She’s call’d her son, Brown Robin,‘Come hither, my son, to me;It fears me sair, my eldest son,That ye maun sail the sea.’—

‘Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,Your bidding I maun dee;But be never warse to Rose the RedThan ye ha’ been to me.’—

‘O haud your tongue, my eldest son,For sma’ sall be her part;You’ll ne’er get kiss o’ her comely mouth,Tho’ you sh’uld break your heart.’

She’s call’d her son, Bold Arthur:‘Come hither, my son, to me;It fears me sair, my youngest son,That ye maun sail the sea.’—

‘Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,Your bidding I maun dee;But be never warse to White LillyThan ye ha’ been to me.’—

‘O haud your tongue, my yongest son,For sma’ sall be her part;You’ll ne’er get kiss o’ White Lilly’s mouthTho’ it break your very heart.’

When Rose the Red and White LillySaw their twa loves were gane,Then stoppit ha’ they their loud, loud sangFor and the still mournin’:And their step-mither stood forbye,To hear the maiden’s mane[391].

Then out it spake her White Lilly:‘My sister, we’ll be gane;Why should we stay in BurnèsdaleTo waste our youth in pain?’

Then cuttit ha’ they their green clothingA little below their knee,And sae ha’ they their yellow hairA little abune their bree[392];And they’re do’en them to haly chapel,Was christen’d by Our Ladye.

There ha’ they changed their ain twa names,Sae far frae ony town;And the tane o’ them hight[393]Sweet Willy,And the tither Roge the Roun[394].

Between this twa a vow was made,And they sware it to fulfil;That at three blasts o’ a bugle-hornShe’d come her sister till.

Now Sweet Willy’s gane to the Kingis court,Her true-love there to see,And Roge the Roun to good green-wood,Brown Robin’s man to be.

As it fell out upon a dayThey a’ did put the stane,Fu’ seven feet ayont them a’She gar’d the puttin’-stane gang.

She lean’d her back against an oak,And ga’e a loud Ohone!Then out it spake him Brown Robin,‘But that’s a woman’s moan!’

‘O ken ye by my red rose lip?Or by my yallow hair?Or ken ye by my milk-white breast?For ye never saw it bare.’

‘I ken no by your red rose lip,Nor by your yallow hair;Nor ken I by your milk-white breast,For I never saw it bare;But come to your bow’r whaever sae likesWill find a lady there.’

About the tenth hour of the nightThe lady’s bow’r-door was broken;And ere the first hour of the nightThe bonny knave-bairn[395]was gotten.

When days were gane, and months were run,Rose the Red took travailing;And sair she cried for a bow’r-woman,Her pine[396]to wait upon.

Then out it spake him Brown Robin:‘Now what needs a’ this din?For what cou’d any woman doBut I cou’d do the same?’—

‘It was never my mither’s fashion,Nor sall it e’er be mine,That belted Knights shou’d e’er stand byWhere ladies dreed[397]their pine.

‘But tak’ ye up my bugle-horn,And blaw three blasts for me;I’ve a brither in the Kingis courtWill come me quickly ti’.’—

‘O gin ye hae a brither on earthThat ye love better nor me,Ye blaw the horn yoursel’,’ he says,‘For ae blast I’ll not gie.’

She set the horn untill her mouth,And blawn three blasts sae shrill;Sweet Willy heard i’ the Kingis court,And came her quickly till....

[Word is to the kitchen gane,And word is to the ha’,Bold Arthur’s lost his little foot-page,To the green-wood stown awa’.]

And word has gane to the Kingis court,To the King himsel’ [at dine]‘Now, by my fay,’ the King can say,[‘Sweet Willy we maun find.’]

‘Bring me my steed,’ then cry’d the King,‘My bow and arrows keen;I’ll ride mysel’ to good green-woodAn’ see what’s to be seen.’

‘An’t please your grace,’ says Bold Arthur,‘My liege I’ll gang you wi’,An’ try to find my little foot-pageThat’s stray’d awa’ frae me.’

O they have hunted in good green-woodThe back but and the rae.And they’ve drawn near Brown Robin’s bow’rAbout the close of day.

Then out it spak’ the King in haste,Says, ‘Arthur, look an’ seeGin that be no your little foot-pageThat leans against yon tree?’

Bold Arthur took his bugle-horn,And blew a blast sae shrill,Sweet Willy started at the soundAnd ran him quickly till.

‘O wanted ye your meat, Willy?Or wanted ye your fee?Or get ye ever an angry word,That ye ran awa’ frae me?’—

‘I wanted nought, my master dear;To me ye aye was good;I came but to see my ae britherThat wons[398]in this green-wood.’

Then out and spak’ the King again,Says, ‘Bonny boy, tell to meWho lives into yon bigly bow’r,Stands by yon green oak-tree?’

‘O pardon me,’ says Sweet Willy,‘My liege, I daurna tell;And I pray you go no near that bow’r,For fear they do you fell[399].’—

‘O haud your tongue, my bonny boy.For I winna be said nay;But I will gang that bow’r within,Betide me weal or wae.’

They’ve lighted off their milk-white steeds,And saftly enter’d in;And then they saw her, Rose the Red,Nursing her bonny young son.

‘Now, by the rood,’ the King could say,‘This is a comely sight;I trow, instead of a forrester,This is a lady bright!’

Then out it spake White LillyAnd fell down on her knee:‘O pardon us, my gracious liege,An’ our story I’ll tell to thee.

‘Our father was a wealthy lord,That wonn’d in Barnèsdale;But we had a wicked step-mother,That wrought us mickle bale[400].

‘Yet she had twa as fu’ fair sonsAs ever the sun did see;An’ the tane o’ them lo’ed my sister dear,An’ the tother said he lo’ed me.’

Then out and spak’ him Bold Arthur,As by the King he stood,‘Now, this should be my White Lilly,An’ that should be Rose the Red!’

Then in it came him Brown RobinFrae hunting o’ the deer,But whan he saw the King was there,He started back for fear.

The King has ta’en him by the handAnd bade him naething dread;Says, ‘Ye maun leave the good green-wood,Come to the court wi’ speed.’

Then up he took Brown Robin’s son,And set him on his knee;Says, ‘Gin ye live to wield a bran’,My bowman ye sall be.’

The King he sent for robes o’ green,And girdles o’ shining gold;He gart the ladies be array’dMost comely to behold.

They’ve doen them unto Mary Kirk,And there gat fair weddìng,And whan the news spread o’er the lan’,For joy the bells did ring.

Then out it spak’ her Rose the Red,And a hearty laugh laugh’d she;‘I wonder what would our step-dame say,Gin she this sight did see!’

FOOTNOTES:[388]bigly = commodious, habitable.[389]makes = means.[390]bruik = brook enjoy.[391]mane = moan.[392]abune their bree = above their brows.[393]hight = was called.[394]Roun = roan, red.[395]knave-bairn = man-child.[396]pine = pain.[397]dreed = endured.[398]wons = dwells.[399]fell = kill.[400]bale = harm.

[388]bigly = commodious, habitable.

[389]makes = means.

[390]bruik = brook enjoy.

[391]mane = moan.

[392]abune their bree = above their brows.

[393]hight = was called.

[394]Roun = roan, red.

[395]knave-bairn = man-child.

[396]pine = pain.

[397]dreed = endured.

[398]wons = dwells.

[399]fell = kill.

[400]bale = harm.

I‘There is a feast in your father’s house,The broom blooms bonnie and sae it is fair—It becomes you and me to be very douce[401],And we’ll never gang down to the broom nae mair.’IIBut it is talk’d all over [the land],‘Lady Marget’s plighted to Leesome Brand.’IIIHe’s done him to her father’s stableAnd tane twa steeds baith wicht[402]and able:IVAne for him, and another for herTo carry them baith wi’ might and virr[403].VWhen they had ridden about six mile,Lady Marget then began to fail.VI‘O gin I had but a gude midwifeHere this day to save my life!VII‘Ye’ll take your arrow and your bowAnd ye will hunt the deer and roe.VIII‘But be sure ye touch not the milk-white hynde,For she is o’ the woman-kind.’IXHe took sic pleasure in deer and raeTill he forgot his ladye gay.XTill by it came that milk-white hynde,And then he mind on his ladye syne.XIHe heard her gie a loud, loud cry,He shot his bow, and he let her lie.XIIWhen he saw she was lying still,He threw down his bow and came running her till[404];XIIIBut he found his ladye lying dead,Likewise her young son at her head.XIVHe’s houkit[405]a grave, long, large and wide,He’s buried his auld[406]son doun by her side.XVIt was nae wonder his heart was sairWhen he shool’d[407]the mools[408]on her yellow hair.XVIHis mother lay owre her castle wa’;There was music and minstrels and dancing and a’.XVII[She said as she look’d owre] dale and down,‘My son comes merrilie to the toun.’—XVIII‘Seek nae minstrels to play in your room,Your son comes sorry to the toun.XIX‘O I hae lost my gowden knife;I rather had lost my ain sweet life!XX‘And I hae lost a far better thing,The gilded sheath that it was in.’—XXI‘Are there nae gowdsmiths here in FifeCan make to you anither knife?XXII‘Are there nae sheath-makers in the landCan make a sheath to Leesome Brand?’—XXIII‘There are nae gowdsmiths here in FifeCan make to me sic a gowden knife;XXIV‘Nor nae sheath-makers in the landCan make to me sic a sheath again.XXV‘For I’ve lost my lady I loved sae dear,The broom blooms bonnie and sae it is fair—Likewise the son she did me bear,And we’ll never gang doun to the broom nae mair.’

‘There is a feast in your father’s house,The broom blooms bonnie and sae it is fair—It becomes you and me to be very douce[401],And we’ll never gang down to the broom nae mair.’

But it is talk’d all over [the land],‘Lady Marget’s plighted to Leesome Brand.’

He’s done him to her father’s stableAnd tane twa steeds baith wicht[402]and able:

Ane for him, and another for herTo carry them baith wi’ might and virr[403].

When they had ridden about six mile,Lady Marget then began to fail.

‘O gin I had but a gude midwifeHere this day to save my life!

‘Ye’ll take your arrow and your bowAnd ye will hunt the deer and roe.

‘But be sure ye touch not the milk-white hynde,For she is o’ the woman-kind.’

He took sic pleasure in deer and raeTill he forgot his ladye gay.

Till by it came that milk-white hynde,And then he mind on his ladye syne.

He heard her gie a loud, loud cry,He shot his bow, and he let her lie.

When he saw she was lying still,He threw down his bow and came running her till[404];

But he found his ladye lying dead,Likewise her young son at her head.

He’s houkit[405]a grave, long, large and wide,He’s buried his auld[406]son doun by her side.

It was nae wonder his heart was sairWhen he shool’d[407]the mools[408]on her yellow hair.

His mother lay owre her castle wa’;There was music and minstrels and dancing and a’.

[She said as she look’d owre] dale and down,‘My son comes merrilie to the toun.’—

‘Seek nae minstrels to play in your room,Your son comes sorry to the toun.

‘O I hae lost my gowden knife;I rather had lost my ain sweet life!

‘And I hae lost a far better thing,The gilded sheath that it was in.’—

‘Are there nae gowdsmiths here in FifeCan make to you anither knife?

‘Are there nae sheath-makers in the landCan make a sheath to Leesome Brand?’—

‘There are nae gowdsmiths here in FifeCan make to me sic a gowden knife;

‘Nor nae sheath-makers in the landCan make to me sic a sheath again.

‘For I’ve lost my lady I loved sae dear,The broom blooms bonnie and sae it is fair—Likewise the son she did me bear,And we’ll never gang doun to the broom nae mair.’

FOOTNOTES:[401]douce = quiet.[402]wicht = sturdy.[403]virr = vigour.[404]her till = to her.[405]houkit = dug.[406]auld = eldest, first-born.[407]shool’d = shovelled.[408]mools = mould.

[401]douce = quiet.

[402]wicht = sturdy.

[403]virr = vigour.

[404]her till = to her.

[405]houkit = dug.

[406]auld = eldest, first-born.

[407]shool’d = shovelled.

[408]mools = mould.

IThere where three ladies live in a bower—Eh, wow, bonnie!And they went out to pull a flowerOn the bonnie banks o’ Fordie.IIThey hadna pu’ed a flower but ane,When up started to them a banisht man.IIIHe’s ta’en the first sister by her hand,And he’s turn’d her round and made her stand.IV‘It’s whether will ye be a rank robber’s wife,Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?’V‘It’s I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,But I’ll rather die by your wee pen-knife.’VIHe’s killed this may, and he’s laid her by,For to bear the red rose company.VIIHe’s ta’en the second ane by the hand,And he’s turn’d her round and made her stand.VIII‘It’s whether will ye be a rank robber’s wife,Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?’IX‘It’s I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,But I’ll rather die by your wee pen-knife.’XHe’s killed this may, and he’s laid her by,For to bear the red rose company.XIHe’s taken the youngest ane by the hand,And he’s turn’d her round and made her stand.XIISays, ‘Will ye be a rank robber’s wife,Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?’XIII‘It’s I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,Nor will I die by your wee pen-knife.XIV‘For in this wood a brother I hae;And gin ye kill me, it’s he’ll kill thee.’XV‘What’s thy brother’s name? come tell to me.’‘My brother’s name is Baby Lon.’XVI‘O sister, sister, what have I done!O have I done this ill to thee!XVII‘O since I’ve done this evil deed,Good sall never be my meed.’XVIIIHe’s taken out his wee pen-knife,Eh, wow, bonnie!And he’s twyn’d[409]himsel’ o’ his ain sweet lifeOn the bonnie banks o’ Fordie.

There where three ladies live in a bower—Eh, wow, bonnie!And they went out to pull a flowerOn the bonnie banks o’ Fordie.

They hadna pu’ed a flower but ane,When up started to them a banisht man.

He’s ta’en the first sister by her hand,And he’s turn’d her round and made her stand.

‘It’s whether will ye be a rank robber’s wife,Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?’

‘It’s I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,But I’ll rather die by your wee pen-knife.’

He’s killed this may, and he’s laid her by,For to bear the red rose company.

He’s ta’en the second ane by the hand,And he’s turn’d her round and made her stand.

‘It’s whether will ye be a rank robber’s wife,Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?’

‘It’s I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,But I’ll rather die by your wee pen-knife.’

He’s killed this may, and he’s laid her by,For to bear the red rose company.

He’s taken the youngest ane by the hand,And he’s turn’d her round and made her stand.

Says, ‘Will ye be a rank robber’s wife,Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?’

‘It’s I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,Nor will I die by your wee pen-knife.

‘For in this wood a brother I hae;And gin ye kill me, it’s he’ll kill thee.’

‘What’s thy brother’s name? come tell to me.’‘My brother’s name is Baby Lon.’

‘O sister, sister, what have I done!O have I done this ill to thee!

‘O since I’ve done this evil deed,Good sall never be my meed.’

He’s taken out his wee pen-knife,Eh, wow, bonnie!And he’s twyn’d[409]himsel’ o’ his ain sweet lifeOn the bonnie banks o’ Fordie.

FOOTNOTES:[409]twyned = taken away, bereaved.

[409]twyned = taken away, bereaved.

IPrince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,He has wedded her with a ring;Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,But he daur na bring her hame.II‘Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear,Your blessing now grant to me!’—‘Instead of a blessing ye sall have my curse,And you’ll get nae blessing frae me.’IIIShe has call’d upon her waiting-maid,To fill her a glass of wine;She has called upon her fause steward,To put rank poison in.IVShe his put it to her roudès[410]lip,And to her roudès chin;She has put it to her fause, fause mouth,But the never a drop gaed in.VHe has put it to his bonny mouth,And to his bonny chin,He’s put it to his cherry lip,And sae fast the rank poison ran in.VI‘O ye hae poison’d your ae son, motherYour ae son and your heir;O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,And sons you’ll never hae mair.VII‘O where will I get a little boy,That will win hose and shoon,To rin sae fast to Darlinton,And bid Fair Eleanor come?’VIIIThen up and spake a little boy,That wad win hose and shoon,‘O I’ll away to Darlinton,And bid Fair Eleanor come.’IXO he has run to Darlinton,And tirlèd at the pin;And wha was sae ready as Eleanor’s sel’To let the bonny boy in?X‘Your gude-mother’s made ye a rare dinour,She’s made it baith gude and fine;Your gude-mother’s made ye a gay dinour,And ye maun come till her and dine.’XIIt’s twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town,The langest that ever were gane;But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light,And she cam’ linkin’ in.XIIBut when she came to Sillertoun town,And into Sillertoun ha’,The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning,And they were weeping a’.XIII‘O where is now my wedded lord,And where now can he be?O where is now my wedded lord?For him I canna see.’—XIV‘Your wedded lord is dead,’ she says,‘And just gane to be laid in the clay;Your wedded lord is dead,’ she says,‘And just gane to be buried the day.XV‘Ye’se get nane o’ his gowd, ye’se get nane o’ his gear,Ye’se get nae thing frae me;Ye’se na get an inch o’ his gude broad land,Tho’ your heart suld burst in three.’XVI‘I want nane o’ his gowd, I want nane o’ his gear,I want nae land frae thee;But I’ll hae the rings that’s on his finger,For them he did promise to me.’XVII‘Ye’se na get the rings that’s on his finger,Ye’se na get them frae me;Ye’se na get the rings that’s on his finger,An’ your heart suld burst in three.’XVIIIShe’s turn’d her back unto the wa’,And her face unto a rock,And there, before the mother’s face,Her very heart it broke.

Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,He has wedded her with a ring;Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,But he daur na bring her hame.

‘Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear,Your blessing now grant to me!’—‘Instead of a blessing ye sall have my curse,And you’ll get nae blessing frae me.’

She has call’d upon her waiting-maid,To fill her a glass of wine;She has called upon her fause steward,To put rank poison in.

She his put it to her roudès[410]lip,And to her roudès chin;She has put it to her fause, fause mouth,But the never a drop gaed in.

He has put it to his bonny mouth,And to his bonny chin,He’s put it to his cherry lip,And sae fast the rank poison ran in.

‘O ye hae poison’d your ae son, motherYour ae son and your heir;O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,And sons you’ll never hae mair.

‘O where will I get a little boy,That will win hose and shoon,To rin sae fast to Darlinton,And bid Fair Eleanor come?’

Then up and spake a little boy,That wad win hose and shoon,‘O I’ll away to Darlinton,And bid Fair Eleanor come.’

O he has run to Darlinton,And tirlèd at the pin;And wha was sae ready as Eleanor’s sel’To let the bonny boy in?

‘Your gude-mother’s made ye a rare dinour,She’s made it baith gude and fine;Your gude-mother’s made ye a gay dinour,And ye maun come till her and dine.’

It’s twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town,The langest that ever were gane;But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light,And she cam’ linkin’ in.

But when she came to Sillertoun town,And into Sillertoun ha’,The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning,And they were weeping a’.

‘O where is now my wedded lord,And where now can he be?O where is now my wedded lord?For him I canna see.’—

‘Your wedded lord is dead,’ she says,‘And just gane to be laid in the clay;Your wedded lord is dead,’ she says,‘And just gane to be buried the day.

‘Ye’se get nane o’ his gowd, ye’se get nane o’ his gear,Ye’se get nae thing frae me;Ye’se na get an inch o’ his gude broad land,Tho’ your heart suld burst in three.’

‘I want nane o’ his gowd, I want nane o’ his gear,I want nae land frae thee;But I’ll hae the rings that’s on his finger,For them he did promise to me.’

‘Ye’se na get the rings that’s on his finger,Ye’se na get them frae me;Ye’se na get the rings that’s on his finger,An’ your heart suld burst in three.’

She’s turn’d her back unto the wa’,And her face unto a rock,And there, before the mother’s face,Her very heart it broke.

FOOTNOTES:[410]roudès = hag-like.

[410]roudès = hag-like.

IAs I was cast in my first sleepe,A dreadfull draught[411]in my mind I drew,For I was dreamèd of a young man,Some men callèd him Yonge Andrew.IIThe moone shone bright, and it cast a fayre light:‘Welcome,’ says she, ‘my honey, my sweete!For I have loved thee this seven long yeare,And our chance it was we co’ld never meete’IIIThen he tooke her in his armès twoAnd kissèd her both cheeke and chin,And twise or thrise he kissèd this may[412]Before they two did part in twin.IV‘Faire maid I cannot do as I wo’ld;[Yet what I can will I pleasure thee]Goe home and fett[413]thy father’s red gold,And I’le goe to the church and marry thee.’VThis ladye is gone to her father’s hall,And well she knew where his red gold [lain],And counted forth five hundred pound,Besides all other jewels and chaines:VIAnd brought it all to Younge Andrew,It was well counted upon his knee:Then he tooke her by the lilye-white handAnd led her up to an hill sae hie.VIIShe had on a gowne of blacke velvett,(A pityfull sight after ye shall see)‘Put off thy clothes, bonny wenche,’ he sayes,‘For no foot further thou’st gang with mee.’VIIIBut then she put off her gowne of velvett,With many a salt teare from her e’e,And in a kirtle of fine breaden[414]silkeShe stood before Yonge Andrew’s e’e.IXSayes, ‘O put off thy kirtle of silke,For some and all shall goe with mee;Unto my owne lady I must it beare,Whom I must needs love better than thee!’XThen she put off her kirtle of silke,With many a salt teare still from her e’e;In a petticoate of scarlett reddShe stood before Yonge Andrew’s e’e.XISayes, ‘O put off thy petticoate,For some and all shall goe with mee;Unto my owne ladye I will it beare,That dwells soe far in a strange countrye.’XIIBut then she put off her petticoate,With many a salt teare still from her e’e,And in a smocke of brave white silkShe stood before Yonge Andrew’s e’e.XIIISayes, ‘O put off thy smocke of silke,For some and all shall goe with me;Unto my owne ladye I will it beare,That dwells soe far in a strange countrye.’—XIVSayes, ‘O remember, Yonge Andrew,Once of a woman you were borne;And for the birth that Marye boreI pray you let my smocke be upon!’—XVSayes, ‘Yes, fayre ladye I know it well,Once of a woman I was borne;Yet for noe birth that Marye boreThy smocke shall not be left upon.’XVIBut then she put off her headgeare fine—She had billaments[415]worth a hundred pound—The hayre was upon that bonny wench’ headCover’d her bodye downe to the ground.XVIIThen he pull’d forth a Scottish brand,And held it there in his owne right hand;Sayes, ‘Whether wilt dye upon my sword’s point,Or thou wilt goe naked home againe?’—XVIII‘Life is sweet,’ then, ‘Sir,’ said she,‘Therefore I pray you leave me with mine;Before I wo’ld dye on your sword’s pointI had rather goe naked home againe.XIX‘My father,’ she sayes, ‘is a right good earleAs any remaines in his owne countrye;Gif ever he doe your bodye take,You are sure to flower a gallow-tree.XX‘And I have seven brethren,’ she sayes,‘And they are all hardy men and bold;Gif ever they doe your bodye takeYou’ll never again gang quicke over molde.’—XXI‘If your father be a right good earleAs any remaines in his owne countrye,Tush! he shall never my bodye take,I’ll gang soe fast and over the sea.XXII‘If you have seven brethren,’ he sayes,‘If they be never soe hardy and bold,Tush! they shall never my bodye take,I’ll gang soe fast over Scottish molde.’XXIIIThis ladye is gone to her father’s hall,Where every body their rest did take;For but the Earle which was her fatherLay wakin’ for his deere daughter’s sake.XXIV‘But who is that,’ her father can say—‘Who is’t soe privily knows the pinn?’‘It’s Helen, your owne deere daughter, father,I pray you rise and lett me in!XXV[‘I pray you, pray you, lett me in!’—]‘Noe, by my hood!’ quoth her father then;‘My house thou’st never come within,Without I had my red gold againe.’XXVI‘Nay, nay, your gold is gone, father,[Yet I pray you rise and let me in!’]‘Then naked thou came into this world,And naked thou shalt return againe.’XXVII‘Nay, God forgave His death, father,And soe I hope you will doe mee.’‘Away, away, thou cursèd woman!Pray God an ill death thou may dee!’XXVIIII’ the morning, when her father got upp,A pittyful sight there he might see;His owne deere daughter was dead, without clothes,—And this was the end of that bonny ladye.XXIXBut let us leave talking of this ladyeAnd talke some more of Yonge Andrew:For false he was to this bonny ladye—More pitty that he had not beene true!XXXHe was not gone in the forest a mile,Or half a mile into the heart of Wales,But a shee-wolfe caught him by such a wyleThat hee must come to tell noe more tales.XXXIAnd now Yonge Andrew he is dead,But he never was buryèd under molde;And there as the wolfe devourèd himThere lyès all this great Earle’s gold.

As I was cast in my first sleepe,A dreadfull draught[411]in my mind I drew,For I was dreamèd of a young man,Some men callèd him Yonge Andrew.

The moone shone bright, and it cast a fayre light:‘Welcome,’ says she, ‘my honey, my sweete!For I have loved thee this seven long yeare,And our chance it was we co’ld never meete’

Then he tooke her in his armès twoAnd kissèd her both cheeke and chin,And twise or thrise he kissèd this may[412]Before they two did part in twin.

‘Faire maid I cannot do as I wo’ld;[Yet what I can will I pleasure thee]Goe home and fett[413]thy father’s red gold,And I’le goe to the church and marry thee.’

This ladye is gone to her father’s hall,And well she knew where his red gold [lain],And counted forth five hundred pound,Besides all other jewels and chaines:

And brought it all to Younge Andrew,It was well counted upon his knee:Then he tooke her by the lilye-white handAnd led her up to an hill sae hie.

She had on a gowne of blacke velvett,(A pityfull sight after ye shall see)‘Put off thy clothes, bonny wenche,’ he sayes,‘For no foot further thou’st gang with mee.’

But then she put off her gowne of velvett,With many a salt teare from her e’e,And in a kirtle of fine breaden[414]silkeShe stood before Yonge Andrew’s e’e.

Sayes, ‘O put off thy kirtle of silke,For some and all shall goe with mee;Unto my owne lady I must it beare,Whom I must needs love better than thee!’

Then she put off her kirtle of silke,With many a salt teare still from her e’e;In a petticoate of scarlett reddShe stood before Yonge Andrew’s e’e.

Sayes, ‘O put off thy petticoate,For some and all shall goe with mee;Unto my owne ladye I will it beare,That dwells soe far in a strange countrye.’

But then she put off her petticoate,With many a salt teare still from her e’e,And in a smocke of brave white silkShe stood before Yonge Andrew’s e’e.

Sayes, ‘O put off thy smocke of silke,For some and all shall goe with me;Unto my owne ladye I will it beare,That dwells soe far in a strange countrye.’—

Sayes, ‘O remember, Yonge Andrew,Once of a woman you were borne;And for the birth that Marye boreI pray you let my smocke be upon!’—

Sayes, ‘Yes, fayre ladye I know it well,Once of a woman I was borne;Yet for noe birth that Marye boreThy smocke shall not be left upon.’

But then she put off her headgeare fine—She had billaments[415]worth a hundred pound—The hayre was upon that bonny wench’ headCover’d her bodye downe to the ground.

Then he pull’d forth a Scottish brand,And held it there in his owne right hand;Sayes, ‘Whether wilt dye upon my sword’s point,Or thou wilt goe naked home againe?’—

‘Life is sweet,’ then, ‘Sir,’ said she,‘Therefore I pray you leave me with mine;Before I wo’ld dye on your sword’s pointI had rather goe naked home againe.

‘My father,’ she sayes, ‘is a right good earleAs any remaines in his owne countrye;Gif ever he doe your bodye take,You are sure to flower a gallow-tree.

‘And I have seven brethren,’ she sayes,‘And they are all hardy men and bold;Gif ever they doe your bodye takeYou’ll never again gang quicke over molde.’—

‘If your father be a right good earleAs any remaines in his owne countrye,Tush! he shall never my bodye take,I’ll gang soe fast and over the sea.

‘If you have seven brethren,’ he sayes,‘If they be never soe hardy and bold,Tush! they shall never my bodye take,I’ll gang soe fast over Scottish molde.’

This ladye is gone to her father’s hall,Where every body their rest did take;For but the Earle which was her fatherLay wakin’ for his deere daughter’s sake.

‘But who is that,’ her father can say—‘Who is’t soe privily knows the pinn?’‘It’s Helen, your owne deere daughter, father,I pray you rise and lett me in!

[‘I pray you, pray you, lett me in!’—]‘Noe, by my hood!’ quoth her father then;‘My house thou’st never come within,Without I had my red gold againe.’

‘Nay, nay, your gold is gone, father,[Yet I pray you rise and let me in!’]‘Then naked thou came into this world,And naked thou shalt return againe.’

‘Nay, God forgave His death, father,And soe I hope you will doe mee.’‘Away, away, thou cursèd woman!Pray God an ill death thou may dee!’

I’ the morning, when her father got upp,A pittyful sight there he might see;His owne deere daughter was dead, without clothes,—And this was the end of that bonny ladye.

But let us leave talking of this ladyeAnd talke some more of Yonge Andrew:For false he was to this bonny ladye—More pitty that he had not beene true!

He was not gone in the forest a mile,Or half a mile into the heart of Wales,But a shee-wolfe caught him by such a wyleThat hee must come to tell noe more tales.

And now Yonge Andrew he is dead,But he never was buryèd under molde;And there as the wolfe devourèd himThere lyès all this great Earle’s gold.

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