NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.
FROM THE RECITATION OF A LADY, NEARLY
RELATED TO THE EDITOR.
Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
He has wedded her with a ring;
Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
But he darna 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 called upon her waiting maid,
To fill a glass of wine;
She has called upon her fause steward,
To put rank poison in.
She has put it to her roudes[13] lip,
And to her roudes chin;
She has put it to her fause fause mouth,
But the never a drap 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 poisoned your ae son, mother,
"Your 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 run 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 tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sell
To let the bonny boy in.
"Your gude-mother has made ye a rare dinour,
"She's made it baith gude and fine;
"Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour,
"And ye maun cum till her and dine."
Its 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'[14] in.
But when she cam 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 no 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 ring that's on his finger,
"For them he did promise to me."
"Ye'se no get the ring that's on his finger,
"Ye'se no get them frae me;
"Ye'se no get the ring that's on his finger,
"An' your heart suld burst in three."
She's turned her back unto the wa',
And her face unto a rock;
And there, before the mother's face,
Her very heart it broke.
The tane was buried in Mary's kirk,
The tother in Marie's quair;
And out o' the tane there sprang a birk,
And out o' the tother a brier.
And thae twa met, and thae twa plat,
The birk but and the brier;
And by that ye may very weel ken
They were twa lovers dear.[15]
THE ANCIENT COPY.
This ballad is edited from the MS. of Mrs Brown, corrected
by a recited fragment. A modernized copy has
been published, under the title of "Courteous King Jamie."—Tales
of Wonder, Vol. II. p. 451.
The legend will remind the reader of the "Marriage of
Sir Gawain," in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry, and of the
"Wife of Bath's Tale," in Father Chaucer. But the
original, as appears from the following quotation from
Torfœus, is to be found in an Icelandic Saga:
"Hellgius, Rex Daniæ, mœrore ob amissam conjugem
vexatus, solus agebat, et subducens se hominum commercio,
segregem domum, omnis famulitii impatiens, incolebat. Accidit
autem, ut nocte concubia, lamentabilis cujusdam ante
fores ejulantis sonus auribus ejus obreperet. Expergefactus
igitur, recluso ostio, informe quoddam mulieris simulacrum,
"habitu corporis fœdum, veste squalore obsita, pallore, macie
frigorisque tyrannide prope modum peremptum, deprehendit;
quod precibus obsecratus, ut qui jam miserorum ærumnas
ex propria calamitate pensare didicisset, in domum
intromisit; ipse lectum petit. At mulier, ne hac quidem
benignitate contenta, thori consortium obnixè flagitabat,
addens id tanti referre, ut nisi impetraret, omnino sibi moriendum
esset. Quod, ea lege, ne ipsum attingeret, concessum
est. Ideo nec complexu eam dignatus rex, avertit
sese. Cum autem prima luce forte oculos ultro citroque
converteret, eximiæ formæ virginem lecto receptam animadvertit;
quæ statim ipsi placere cœpit: causam igitur tam
repentinæ mutationis curiosius indaganti, respondit virgo,
se unam e subterraneorum hominum genere diris novercalibus
devotam, tam tetra et execrabili specie, quali primo
comparuit, damnatam, quoad thori cujusdam principis socia
fieret, multos reges hac de re sollicitasse. Jam actis pro
præstito beneficio gratiis, discessum maturans, a rege formæ
ejus illecebris capto comprimitur. Deinde petit, si prolem
ex hoc congressu progigni contigerit, sequente hyeme, eodem
anni tempore, ante fores positam in ædes reciperet, seque
ejus patrem profiteri non gravaretur, secus non leve infortunium
insecuturum prædixit: a quo præcepto cum rex
postea exorbitasset, nec præ foribus jacentem infantem pro
suo agnoscere voluisset, ad eum iterum, sed corrugata fronte,
accessit, obque violatam fidem acrius objurgatum ab imminente
periculo, præstiti olim beneficii gratia, exempturam
pollicebatur, ita tamen ut tota ultionis rabies in filium ejus
"effusa graves aliquando levitatis illius pænas exigeret. Ex
hac tam dissimilium naturarum commixtione, Skulda, versuti
et versatilis animi mulier, nata fuisse memoratur; quæ
utramque naturam participans prodigiosorum operum effectrix
perhibetur."—Hrolffi Krakii, Hist. p. 49, Hafn.
1715.
KING HENRIE.
ANCIENT COPY.
Let never a man a wooing wend,
That lacketh thingis thrie:
A rowth o' gold, an open heart,
And fu' o' courtesey.
And this was seen o' King Henrie,
For he lay burd alane;
And he has ta'en him to a haunted hunt's ha',
Was seven miles frae a toun.
He's chaced the dun deer thro' the wood,
And the roe doun by the den,
Till the fattest buck, in a' the herd,
King Henrie he has slain.
He's ta'en him to his hunting ha',
For to make burly cheir;
When loud the wind was heard to sound,
And an earthquake rocked the floor.
And darkness cover'd a' the hall,
Where they sat at their meat:
The gray dogs, youling, left their food,
And crept to Henrie's feet.
And louder houled the rising wind,
And burst the fast'ned door;
And in there came a griesly ghost,
Stood stamping on the floor.
Her head touched the roof-tree of the house;
Her middle ye weel mot span:
Each frighted huntsman fled the ha',
And left the king alone.
Her teeth were a' like tether stakes,
Her nose like club or mell;
And I ken naething she appeared to be,
But the fiend that wons in hell.
"Sum meat, sum meat, ye King Henrie!
"Sum meat ye gie to me!"
"And what meat's in this house, ladye,
"That ye're na wellcum tee?"[16]
"O ye'se gae kill your berry-brown steed,
"And serve him up to me."
O when he killed his berry-brown steed,
Wow gin his heart was sair!
She eat him a' up, skin and bane,
Left naething but hide and hair.
"Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henrie!
"Mair meat ye gie to me!"
"And what meat's i' this house, ladye,
"That ye're na wellcum tee?"
"O ye do slay your gude gray houndes,
"And bring them a' to me."
O when he slew his gude gray houndes,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She's ate them a' up, ane by ane,
Left naething but hide and hair.
"Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henrie!
"Mair meat ye gie to me!"
"And what meat's i' this house, ladye,
"That I hae left to gie?"
"O ye do fell your gay goss-hawks,
"And bring them a' to me."
O when he felled his gay goss-hawks,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She's ate them a' up, bane by bane,
Left naething but feathers bare.
"Some drink, some drink, ye King Henrie!
"Sum drink ye gie to me!"
"And what drink's in this house, ladye,
"That ye're na wellcum tee?"
"O ye sew up your horse's hide,
"And bring in a drink to me."
O he has sewed up the bluidy hide,
And put in a pipe of wine;
She drank it a' up at ae draught,
Left na a drap therein.
"A bed, a bed, ye King Henrie!
"A bed ye mak to me!"
"And what's the bed i' this house, ladye,
"That ye're na wellcum tee?"
"O ye maun pu' the green heather,
"And mak a bed to me."
O pu'd has he the heather green,
And made to her a bed;
And up he has ta'en his gay mantle,
And o'er it he has spread.
"Now swear, now swear, ye King Henrie,
"To take me for your bride!"
"O God forbid," King Henrie said,
"That e'er the like betide!
"That e'er the fiend, that wons in hell,
"Should streak down by my side."
When day was come, and night was gane,
And the sun shone through the ha',
The fairest ladye, that e'er was seen,
Lay atween him and the wa'.
"O weel is me!" King Henrie said,
"How lang will this last wi' me?"
And out and spak that ladye fair,
"E'en till the day ye die.
"For I was witched to a ghastly shape,
"All by my stepdame's skill,
"Till I should meet wi' a courteous knight,
"Wad gie me a' my will."
NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.
The following verses are the original words of the tune of
"Allan Water," by which name the song is mentioned in
Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany. The ballad is given from
tradition; and it is said, that a bridge, over the Annan,
was built in consequence of the melancholy catastrophe
which it narrates. Two verses are added in this edition,
from another copy of the ballad, in which the conclusion
proves fortunate. By the Gatehope Slack, is perhaps meant
the Gate Slack, a pass in Annandale. The Annan, and
the Frith of Solway, into which it falls, are the frequent
scenes of tragical accidents. The editor trusts he will be
pardoned for inserting the following awfully impressive
account of such an event, contained in a letter from Dr
Currie, of Liverpool, by whose correspondence, while in
the course of preparing these volumes for the press, he
has been alike honoured and instructed. After stating,
that he had some recollection of the ballad which follows,
the biographer of Burns proceeds thus: "I once in my
early days heard (for it was night, and I could not see)
a traveller drowning; not in the Annan itself, but in the
Frith of Solway, close by the mouth of that river. The
influx of the tide had unhorsed him, in the night, as he
was passing the sands from Cumberland. The west
wind blew a tempest, and, according to the common
expression, brought in the water, three foot a-breast.
The traveller got upon a standing net, a little way from
the shore. There he lashed himself to the post, shouting
for half an hour for assistance—till the tide rose over
his head! In the darkness of night, and amid the pauses
of the hurricane, his voice, heard at intervals, was exquisitely
mournful. No one could go to his assistance—no
one knew where he was—the sound seemed to proceed
from the spirit of the waters. But morning rose—the
tide had ebbed—and the poor traveller was found
lashed to the pole of the net, and bleaching in the
wind."
ANNAN WATER.
"Annan water's wading deep,
"And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
"And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
"Because I love her best of ony.
"Gar saddle me the bonny black;
"Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:
"For I will down the Gatehope-slack,
"And all to see my bonny ladye."
He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;
But, or he wan the Gatehope-slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.
He has loupen on the bonny gray,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
O he has ridden ower field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;
His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
And frae her fore-feet flew the fire.
"Now, bonny gray, now play your part!
"Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
"Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
"And never spur sall make you wearie."
The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;
But when she wan the Annan water,
She could na hae ridden a furlong mair,
Had a thousand merks been wadded[17] at her.
"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
"Put off your boat for gowden monie!
"I cross the drumly stream the night,
"Or never mair I see my honey."
"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
"And not by ae aith, but by many;
"And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,
"I dare na take ye through to Annie."
The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
And the bonny gray mare did sweat for fear,
For she heard the water kelpy roaring.
O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy[18] coat,
The silver buttons glanced bonny;
The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
He was sae full of melancholy.
He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;
I wot he swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny ladye.
"O wae betide the frush[19] saugh wand!
"And wae betide the bush of briar!
"It brake into my true love's hand,
"When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
"And wae betide ye, Annan water,
"This night that ye are a drumlie river!
"For over thee I'll build a bridge,
"That ye never more true love may sever."
This ballad differs essentially from that which has been
published in various collections, under the title of Binnorie.
It is compiled from a copy in Mrs Brown's MSS.,
intermixed with a beautiful fragment, of fourteen verses,
transmitted to the editor by J. C. Walker, Esq. the ingenious
historian of the Irish bards. Mr Walker, at the
same time, favoured the editor with the following note:—"I
am indebted to my departed friend, Miss Brook, for
the foregoing pathetic fragment. Her account of it was
as follows: This song was transcribed, several years ago,
from the memory of an old woman, who had no recollection
of the concluding verses: probably the beginning
may also be lost, as it seems to commence abruptly."
The first verse and burden of the fragment run
thus:—
O sister, sister, reach thy hand!
Hey ho, my Nanny, O;
And you shall be heir of all my land,
While the swan swims bonny, O.
The first part of this chorus seems to be corrupted from
the common burden of Hey, Nonny, Nonny, alluded to in
the song, beginning, "Sigh no more, ladye." The chorus,
retained in this edition, is the most common and popular;
but Mrs Brown's copy bears a yet different burden, beginning
thus:—
There were twa sisters sat in a bour,
Edinborough, Edinborough;
There were twa sisters sat in a bour,
Stirling for aye;
There were twa sisters sat in a bour,
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
Bonny St Johnston stands upon Tay.
THE CRUEL SISTER.
There were two sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
There came a knight to be their wooer;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with broach and knife;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
The eldest she was vexed sair;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And sore envied her sister fair;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
The eldest said to the youngest ane,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"Will ye go and see our father's ships come in?"
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
She's ta'en her by the lilly hand,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And led her down to the river strand;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
The youngest stude upon a stane,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
The eldest came and pushed her in;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
She took her by the middle sma',
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And dashed her bonny back to the jaw,
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"O sister, sister, reach your hand,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And ye shall be heir of half my land."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"O sister, I'll not reach my hand,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And I'll be heir of all your land;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"Shame fa' the hand that I should take,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"Its twin'd me, and my world's make."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"O sister, reach me but your glove,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And sweet William shall be your love."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove!
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And sweet William shall better be my love."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"Garr'd me gang maiden evermair."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Until she cam to the miller's dam,
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"O father, father, draw your dam!
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"There's either a mermaid, or a milk-white swan."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
The miller hasted and drew his dam,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And there he found a drowned woman,
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
You could not see her yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
For gowd and pearls that were sae rare,
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
You could na see her middle sma',
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Her gowden girdle was sae bra';
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
A famous harper passing by,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
And when he looked that lady on,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
He sighed, and made a heavy moan;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
He made a harp of her breast-bone,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
The strings he framed of her yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Whose notes made sad the listening ear;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
He brought it to her father's hall;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And there was the court assembled all;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
He laid this harp upon a stone,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And straight it began to play alone;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"O yonder sits my father, the king,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And yonder sits my mother, the queen;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
"And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And by him my William sweet and true."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
But the last tune that the harp play'd then,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Was—"Woe to my sister, false Helen!"
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.
"In the very time of the General Assembly, there comes
to public knowledge a haynous murther, committed in
the court; yea, not far from the queen's lap: for a
French woman, that served in the queen's chamber, had
played the whore with the queen's own apothecary.—The
woman conceived and bare a childe, whom, with
common consent, the father and mother murthered; yet
were the cries of a new-borne childe hearde, searche
was made, the childe and the mother were both apprehended,
and so was the man and the woman condemned
to be hanged in the publicke street of Edinburgh.—The
punishment was suitable, because the crime was
haynous. But yet was not the court purged of whores
and whoredoms, which was the fountaine of such enormities;
for it was well known that shame hasted marriage
betwixt John Sempill, called the Dancer, and
Mary Leringston[20], sirnamed the Lusty. What bruit
the Maries, and the rest of the dancers of the court
had, the ballads of that age do witnesse, which we, for
modestie's sake, omit: but this was the common complaint
of all godly and wise men, that, if they thought
such a court could long continue, and if they looked for
no better life to come, they would have wished their
sonnes and daughters rather to have been brought up
with fiddlers and dancers, and to have been exercised
with flinging upon a floore, and in the rest that thereof
followes, than to have been exercised in the company
of the godly, and exercised in virtue, which, in that
court was hated, and filthenesse not only maintained,
but also rewarded; witnesse the abbey of Abercorne,
the barony of Auchvermuchtie, and divers others, pertaining
to the patrimony of the crown, given in heritage
to skippers and dancers, and dalliers with dames. This
was the beginning of the regiment of Mary, queen of
Scots, and these were the fruits that she brought forth of
France.—Lord! look on our miseries! and deliver us from
the wickednesse of this corrupt court!"—Knox's History of
the Reformation, p. 373-4.
Such seems to be the subject of the following ballad, as
narrated by the stern apostle of presbytery. It will readily
strike the reader, that the tale has suffered great alterations,
as handed down by tradition; the French waiting-woman
being changed into Mary Hamilton,[21] and the queen's apothecary,
into Henry Darnley. Yet this is less surprising,
when we recollect, that one of the heaviest of the queen's
complaints against her ill-fated husband, was his infidelity,
and that even with her personal attendants. I have been
enabled to publish the following complete edition of the
ballad, by copies from various quarters; that principally
used, was communicated to me, in the most polite manner,
by Mr Kirkpatricke Sharpe, of Hoddom, to whom I am
indebted for many similar favours.
THE QUEEN'S MARIE.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' ribbons on her hair;
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than ony that were there.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' ribbons on her breast;
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than he listen'd to the priest.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' gluves upon her hands;
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than the queen and a' her lands.
She hadna been about the king's court
A month, but barely one,
Till she was beloved by a' the king's court,
And the king the only man.
She hadna been about the king's court
A month, but barely three,
Till frae the king's court Marie Hamilton,
Marie Hamilton durst na be.
The king is to the Abbey gane,
To pu' the Abbey tree,
To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;
But the thing it wadna be.
O she has row'd it in her apron,
And set it on the sea,—
"Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,
"Ye'se get na mair o' me."
Word is to the kitchen gane,
And word is to the ha',
And word is to the noble room,
Amang the ladyes a',
That Marie Hamilton's brought-to-bed,
And the bonny babe's mist and awa.
Scarcely had she lain down again,
And scarcely fa'n asleep,
When up then started our gude queen,
Just at her bed-feet;
Saying—"Marie Hamilton, where's your babe?
"For I'm sure I heard it greet."
"O no, O no, my noble queen!
"Think no such thing to be;
"'Twas but a stitch into my side,
"And sair it troubles me."
"Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton;
"Get up, and follow me;
"For I am going to Edinburgh town,
"A rich wedding for to see."
O slowly, slowly, raise she up,
And slowly put she on;
And slowly rode she out the way,
Wi' mony a weary groan.
The queen was clad in scarlet,
Her merry maids all in green;
And every town that they cam to,
They took Marie for the queen.
"Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,
"Ride hooly now wi' me!
"For never, I am sure, a wearier burd
"Rade in your cumpanie."
But little wist Marie Hamilton,
When she rade on the brown,
That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town,
And a' to be put down.
"Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives,
"Why look ye so on me?
"O, I am going to Edinburgh town,
"A rich wedding for to see."
When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs,
The corks frae her heels did flee;
And lang or e'er she cam down again,
She was condemned to die.
When she cam to the Netherbow port,
She laughed loud laughters three;
But when she cam to the gallows foot,
The tears blinded her e'e.
"Yestreen the queen had four Maries,
"The night she'll hae but three;
"There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton,
"And Marie Carmichael, and me.
"O, often have I dress'd my queen,
"And put gold upon her hair;
"But now I've gotten for my reward,
"The gallows to be my share;
"Often have I dress'd my queen,
"And often made her bed;
"But now I've gotten for my reward
"The gallows tree to tread.
"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
"When ye sail ower the faem,
"Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
"But that I'm coming hame.
"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
"That sail upon the sea,
"Let neither my father nor mother get wit
"This dog's death I'm to die.
"For if my father and mother got wit,
"And my bold brethren three,
"O, mickle wad be the gude red blude,
"This day wad be spilt for me!
"O little did my mother ken,
"The day she cradled me,
"The lands I was to travel in,
"Or the death I was to die!"