I

INow ponder well, you parents dear,These words which I shall write;A doleful story you shall hear,In time brought forth to light.A gentleman of good accountIn Norfolk dwelt of late,Who did in honour far surmountMost men of his estate.IISore sick he was and like to die,No help his life could save;His wife by him as sick did lie,And both possest one grave.No love between these two was lost,Each was to other kind;In love they lived, in love they died,And left two babes behind:IIIThe one a fine and pretty boyNot passing three years old,The other a girl more young than he,And framed in beauty’s mould.The father left his little son,As plainly did appear,When he to perfect age should come,Three hundred pounds a year;IVAnd to his little daughter JaneFive hundred pounds in gold,To be paid down on marriage-day,Which might not be controll’d.But if the children chanced to dieEre they to age should come,Their uncle should possess their wealth;For so the will did run.V‘Now, brother,’ said the dying man,‘Look to my children dear;Be good unto my boy and girl,No friends else have they here:To God and you I recommendMy children dear this day;But little while be sure we haveWithin this world to stay.VI‘You must be father and mother both,And uncle, all in one;God knows what will become of themWhen I am dead and gone.’With that bespake their mother dear:‘O brother kind,’ quoth she,‘You are the man must bring our babesTo wealth or misery!VII‘And if you keep them carefully,Then God will you reward;But if you otherwise should deal,God will your deeds regard.’With lips as cold as any stone,They kiss’d their children small:‘God bless you both, my children dear!’With that the tears did fall.VIIIThese speeches then their brother spakeTo this sick couple there:‘The keeping of your little ones,Sweet sister, do not fear;God never prosper me nor mine,Nor aught else that I have,If I do wrong your children dearWhen you are laid in grave!’IXThe parents being dead and gone,The children home he takes,And brings them straight unto his house,Where much of them he makes.He had not kept these pretty babesA twelvemonth and a day,But, for their wealth, he did deviseTo make them both away.XHe bargain’d with two ruffians strong,Which were of furious mood,That they should take these children young,And slay them in a wood.He told his wife an artful tale:He would the children sendTo be brought up in London townWith one that was his friend.XIAway then went those pretty babes,Rejoicing at that tide,Rejoicing with a merry mindThey should on cock-horse ride.They prate and prattle pleasantly,As they ride on the way,To those that should their butchers beAnd work their lives’ decay:XIISo that the pretty speech they hadMade Murder’s heart relent;And they that undertook the deedFull sore did now repent.Yet one of them, more hard of heart,Did vow to do his charge,Because the wretch that hirèd himHad paid him very large.XIIIThe other won’t agree thereto,So here they fall to strife;With one another they did fightAbout the children’s life:And he that was of mildest moodDid slay the other there,Within an unfrequented wood.—The babes did quake for fear!XIVHe took the children by the hand,Tears standing in their eye,And bade them straightway follow him,And look they did not cry;And two long miles he led them on,While they for food complain:‘Stay here,’ quoth he; ‘I’ll bring you breadWhen I come back again.’XVThese pretty babes, with hand in hand,Went wandering up and down;But never more could see the manApproaching from the town.Their pretty lips with blackberriesWere all besmear’d and dyed;And when they saw the darksome night,They sat them down and cried.XVIThus wander’d these poor innocents,Till death did end their grief;In one another’s arms they died,As wanting due relief:No burial this pretty pairFrom any man receives,Till Robin Redbreast piouslyDid cover them with leaves.XVIIAnd now the heavy wrath of GodUpon their uncle fell;Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,His conscience felt an hell:His barns were fired, his goods consumed,His lands were barren made,His cattle died within the field,And nothing with him stay’d.XVIIIAnd in a voyage to PortugalTwo of his sons did die;And, to conclude, himself was broughtTo want and misery:He pawn’d and mortgaged all his landEre seven years came about.And now at last his wicked actDid by this means come out.XIXThe fellow that did take in handThese children for to kill,Was for a robbery judged to die,Such was God’s blessed will:Who did confess the very truth,As here hath been display’d:The uncle having died in jail,Where he for debt was laid.XXYou that executors be made,And overseërs eke,Of children that be fatherless,And infants mild and meek,Take you example by this thing,And yield to each his right,Lest God with suchlike miseryYour wicked minds requite.

Now ponder well, you parents dear,These words which I shall write;A doleful story you shall hear,In time brought forth to light.A gentleman of good accountIn Norfolk dwelt of late,Who did in honour far surmountMost men of his estate.

Sore sick he was and like to die,No help his life could save;His wife by him as sick did lie,And both possest one grave.No love between these two was lost,Each was to other kind;In love they lived, in love they died,And left two babes behind:

The one a fine and pretty boyNot passing three years old,The other a girl more young than he,And framed in beauty’s mould.The father left his little son,As plainly did appear,When he to perfect age should come,Three hundred pounds a year;

And to his little daughter JaneFive hundred pounds in gold,To be paid down on marriage-day,Which might not be controll’d.But if the children chanced to dieEre they to age should come,Their uncle should possess their wealth;For so the will did run.

‘Now, brother,’ said the dying man,‘Look to my children dear;Be good unto my boy and girl,No friends else have they here:To God and you I recommendMy children dear this day;But little while be sure we haveWithin this world to stay.

‘You must be father and mother both,And uncle, all in one;God knows what will become of themWhen I am dead and gone.’With that bespake their mother dear:‘O brother kind,’ quoth she,‘You are the man must bring our babesTo wealth or misery!

‘And if you keep them carefully,Then God will you reward;But if you otherwise should deal,God will your deeds regard.’With lips as cold as any stone,They kiss’d their children small:‘God bless you both, my children dear!’With that the tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spakeTo this sick couple there:‘The keeping of your little ones,Sweet sister, do not fear;God never prosper me nor mine,Nor aught else that I have,If I do wrong your children dearWhen you are laid in grave!’

The parents being dead and gone,The children home he takes,And brings them straight unto his house,Where much of them he makes.He had not kept these pretty babesA twelvemonth and a day,But, for their wealth, he did deviseTo make them both away.

He bargain’d with two ruffians strong,Which were of furious mood,That they should take these children young,And slay them in a wood.He told his wife an artful tale:He would the children sendTo be brought up in London townWith one that was his friend.

Away then went those pretty babes,Rejoicing at that tide,Rejoicing with a merry mindThey should on cock-horse ride.They prate and prattle pleasantly,As they ride on the way,To those that should their butchers beAnd work their lives’ decay:

So that the pretty speech they hadMade Murder’s heart relent;And they that undertook the deedFull sore did now repent.Yet one of them, more hard of heart,Did vow to do his charge,Because the wretch that hirèd himHad paid him very large.

The other won’t agree thereto,So here they fall to strife;With one another they did fightAbout the children’s life:And he that was of mildest moodDid slay the other there,Within an unfrequented wood.—The babes did quake for fear!

He took the children by the hand,Tears standing in their eye,And bade them straightway follow him,And look they did not cry;And two long miles he led them on,While they for food complain:‘Stay here,’ quoth he; ‘I’ll bring you breadWhen I come back again.’

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,Went wandering up and down;But never more could see the manApproaching from the town.Their pretty lips with blackberriesWere all besmear’d and dyed;And when they saw the darksome night,They sat them down and cried.

Thus wander’d these poor innocents,Till death did end their grief;In one another’s arms they died,As wanting due relief:No burial this pretty pairFrom any man receives,Till Robin Redbreast piouslyDid cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrath of GodUpon their uncle fell;Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,His conscience felt an hell:His barns were fired, his goods consumed,His lands were barren made,His cattle died within the field,And nothing with him stay’d.

And in a voyage to PortugalTwo of his sons did die;And, to conclude, himself was broughtTo want and misery:He pawn’d and mortgaged all his landEre seven years came about.And now at last his wicked actDid by this means come out.

The fellow that did take in handThese children for to kill,Was for a robbery judged to die,Such was God’s blessed will:Who did confess the very truth,As here hath been display’d:The uncle having died in jail,Where he for debt was laid.

You that executors be made,And overseërs eke,Of children that be fatherless,And infants mild and meek,Take you example by this thing,And yield to each his right,Lest God with suchlike miseryYour wicked minds requite.

IA wonder stranger ne’er was knownThan what I now shall treat upon.In Suffolk there did lately dwellA farmer rich and known full well.IIHe had a daughter fair and bright,On whom he placed his chief delight;Her beauty was beyond compare,She was both virtuous and fair.IIIA young man there was living by,Who was so charmèd with her eye,That he could never be at rest;He was by love so much possest.IVHe made address to her, and sheDid grant him love immediately;But when her father came to hear,He parted her and her poor dear.VForty miles distant was she sent,Unto his brother’s, with intentThat she should there so long remain,Till she had changed her mind again.VIHereat this young man sadly grieved,But knew not how to be relieved;He sigh’d and sobb’d continuallyThat his true love he could not see.VIIShe by no means could to him send,Who was her heart’s espousèd friend;He sigh’d, he grieved, but all in vain,For she confined must still remain.VIIIHe mourn’d so much that doctor’s artCould give no ease unto his heart,Who was so strangely terrifiedThat in short time for love he died.IXShe that from him was sent awayKnew nothing of his dying day;But constant still she did remain,And loved the dead, although in vain.XAfter he had in grave been laidA month or more, unto this maidHe comes in middle of the night,Who joy’d to see her heart’s delight.XIHer father’s horse which well she knew,Her mother’s hood and safeguard[1307]too,He brought with him to testifyHer parents’ order he came by.XIIWhich when her uncle understood,He hoped it would be for her good,And gave consent to her straightwayThat with him she should come away.XIIIWhen she was got her love behind,They pass’d as swift as any wind,That in two hours, or little more,He brought her to her father’s door.XIVBut as they did this great haste make,He did complain his head did ache;Her handkerchief she then took out,And tied the same his head about.XVAnd unto him she thus did say:‘Thou art as cold as any clay,When we come home a fire we’ll have’;But little dream’d he went to grave.XVISoon were they at her father’s door,And after she ne’er saw him more;‘I’ll set the horse up,’ then he said,And there he left this harmless maid.XVIIShe knock’d, and straight a man he cried,‘Who’s there?’ ‘’Tis I,’ she then replied;Who wonder’d much her voice to hear,And was possest with dread and fear.XVIIIHer father he did tell, and thenHe stared like an affrighted man:Down stairs he ran, and when he see her,Cried out, ‘My child, how cam’st thou here?’XIX‘Pray, sir, did you not send for meBy such a messenger?’ said she:Which made his hair stand on his head,As knowing well that he was dead.XX‘Where is he?’ then to her he said.—‘He’s in the stable,’ quoth the maid.—‘Go in,’ said he, ‘and go to bed;I’ll see the horse well litterèd.’XXIHe stared about, and there could heNo shape of any mankind see,But found his horse all on a sweat;Which made him in a deadly fret.XXIIHis daughter he said nothing to,Nor no-one else (though well they knewThat he was dead a month before),For fear of grieving her full sore.XXIIIHer father to his father wentWho was deceased, with full intentTo tell him what his daughter said;So both came back unto this maid.XXIVThey ask’d her, and she still did say’Twas he that then brought her away;Which when they heard, they were amazed,And on each other strangely gazed.XXVA handkerchief she said she tiedAbout his head, and that they tried;The sexton they did speak untoThat he the grave would then undo.XXVIAffrighted then they did beholdHis body turning into mould,And though he had a month been deadThis kerchief was about his head.XXVIIThis thing unto her then they told,And the whole truth they did unfold.She was thereat so terrifiedAnd grieved, she quickly after died.

A wonder stranger ne’er was knownThan what I now shall treat upon.In Suffolk there did lately dwellA farmer rich and known full well.

He had a daughter fair and bright,On whom he placed his chief delight;Her beauty was beyond compare,She was both virtuous and fair.

A young man there was living by,Who was so charmèd with her eye,That he could never be at rest;He was by love so much possest.

He made address to her, and sheDid grant him love immediately;But when her father came to hear,He parted her and her poor dear.

Forty miles distant was she sent,Unto his brother’s, with intentThat she should there so long remain,Till she had changed her mind again.

Hereat this young man sadly grieved,But knew not how to be relieved;He sigh’d and sobb’d continuallyThat his true love he could not see.

She by no means could to him send,Who was her heart’s espousèd friend;He sigh’d, he grieved, but all in vain,For she confined must still remain.

He mourn’d so much that doctor’s artCould give no ease unto his heart,Who was so strangely terrifiedThat in short time for love he died.

She that from him was sent awayKnew nothing of his dying day;But constant still she did remain,And loved the dead, although in vain.

After he had in grave been laidA month or more, unto this maidHe comes in middle of the night,Who joy’d to see her heart’s delight.

Her father’s horse which well she knew,Her mother’s hood and safeguard[1307]too,He brought with him to testifyHer parents’ order he came by.

Which when her uncle understood,He hoped it would be for her good,And gave consent to her straightwayThat with him she should come away.

When she was got her love behind,They pass’d as swift as any wind,That in two hours, or little more,He brought her to her father’s door.

But as they did this great haste make,He did complain his head did ache;Her handkerchief she then took out,And tied the same his head about.

And unto him she thus did say:‘Thou art as cold as any clay,When we come home a fire we’ll have’;But little dream’d he went to grave.

Soon were they at her father’s door,And after she ne’er saw him more;‘I’ll set the horse up,’ then he said,And there he left this harmless maid.

She knock’d, and straight a man he cried,‘Who’s there?’ ‘’Tis I,’ she then replied;Who wonder’d much her voice to hear,And was possest with dread and fear.

Her father he did tell, and thenHe stared like an affrighted man:Down stairs he ran, and when he see her,Cried out, ‘My child, how cam’st thou here?’

‘Pray, sir, did you not send for meBy such a messenger?’ said she:Which made his hair stand on his head,As knowing well that he was dead.

‘Where is he?’ then to her he said.—‘He’s in the stable,’ quoth the maid.—‘Go in,’ said he, ‘and go to bed;I’ll see the horse well litterèd.’

He stared about, and there could heNo shape of any mankind see,But found his horse all on a sweat;Which made him in a deadly fret.

His daughter he said nothing to,Nor no-one else (though well they knewThat he was dead a month before),For fear of grieving her full sore.

Her father to his father wentWho was deceased, with full intentTo tell him what his daughter said;So both came back unto this maid.

They ask’d her, and she still did say’Twas he that then brought her away;Which when they heard, they were amazed,And on each other strangely gazed.

A handkerchief she said she tiedAbout his head, and that they tried;The sexton they did speak untoThat he the grave would then undo.

Affrighted then they did beholdHis body turning into mould,And though he had a month been deadThis kerchief was about his head.

This thing unto her then they told,And the whole truth they did unfold.She was thereat so terrifiedAnd grieved, she quickly after died.

FOOTNOTES:[1307]safeguard = riding-skirt.

[1307]safeguard = riding-skirt.

IO Bessie Bell and Mary Gray,They war twa bonnie lasses;They biggit[1308]a bower on yon burn-brae,And theekit[1309]it o’er wi’ rashes.IIThey theekit it o’er wi’ rashes green,They theekit it o’er wi’ heather;But the pest cam frae the burrows-town,And slew them baith thegither.IIIThey thought to lye in Methven kirkyard,Amang their noble kin;But they maun lye in Stronach haugh[1310],To biek[1311]forenent the sin[1312].IVAnd Bessie Bell and Mary Gray,They war twa bonnie lasses;They biggit a bower on yon burn-brae,And theekit it o’er wi’ rashes.

O Bessie Bell and Mary Gray,They war twa bonnie lasses;They biggit[1308]a bower on yon burn-brae,And theekit[1309]it o’er wi’ rashes.

They theekit it o’er wi’ rashes green,They theekit it o’er wi’ heather;But the pest cam frae the burrows-town,And slew them baith thegither.

They thought to lye in Methven kirkyard,Amang their noble kin;But they maun lye in Stronach haugh[1310],To biek[1311]forenent the sin[1312].

And Bessie Bell and Mary Gray,They war twa bonnie lasses;They biggit a bower on yon burn-brae,And theekit it o’er wi’ rashes.

FOOTNOTES:[1308]biggit = built.[1309]theekit = thatched.[1310]haugh = water-mead.[1311]biek = bask.[1312]sin = sun.

[1308]biggit = built.

[1309]theekit = thatched.

[1310]haugh = water-mead.

[1311]biek = bask.

[1312]sin = sun.

The numbers are ballad numbers, not page numbers.

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