FOOTNOTES:
[319] Ver. 31, 35. Swine, PCC.
[320] Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals.
V.
BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.
Given, with some corrections, from an old black letter copy, intitled, Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy.
[It is not clear why Percy separated this English version of Barbara Allen from the Scottish version entitled Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan (No. 7).
Goldsmith in his third Essay says, "the music of the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when our dairy maid sung me into tears with Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night, or the Cruelty of Barbara Allen."
It has been suggested that for "Scarlet towne" in the first verse should be read Carlisle town, but as some printed copies have Reading town we may suppose that a pun is intended.]
In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merrye month of may, 5
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the town, where shee was dwellin; 10
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him, 15
O lovelye Barbara Allen.
Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen. 20
So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
Young man, I think y'are dying.
He turnd his face unto her strait, 25
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my deth-bed lying.
If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin: 30
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.
He turnd his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all, 35
Adieu to Barbara Allen.
As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen. 40
She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:
Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd
That I may look upon him.
With scornful eye she looked downe, 45
Her cheeke with laughter swellin;
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.
When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 50
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to-morrowe.
Hard harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him, 55
When he was alive and neare me!
She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him;
And sore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him. 60
Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.
VI.
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.
A SCOTTISH BALLAD.
From Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. The concluding stanza of this piece seems modern.
[In the previous ballad (No. 4) and in Mallet's William and Margaret it is Margaret who appears to William, but in the present one and in some other versions William is made to die first. In Clerk Saunders (Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border) Scott has joined two distinct stories, and the second part, in which the spirit of Clerk Saunders appears to May Margaret, closely resembles the present ballad. Besides these there are two other versions. Kinloch's, entitled Sweet William and May Margaret, and Motherwell's William and Marjorie. Dr. Rimbault points out that the chief incidents in Bürger's Leonora resemble those in this ballad.
The last two stanzas are probably Ramsay's own.]
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous grone,
And ay he tirled at the pin;[321]
But answer made she none.
Is this my father Philip? 5
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true love Willie,
From Scotland new come home?
'Tis not thy father Philip;
Nor yet thy brother John: 10
But tis thy true love Willie
From Scotland new come home,
O sweet Margret! O dear Margret!
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 15
As I gave it to thee.
Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,
'Of me shalt nevir win,'
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin. 20
If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man:
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,
Thy days will not be lang.
O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, 25
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.
Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,
'Of me shalt nevir win,' 30
Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,
And wed me with a ring.
My bones are buried in a kirk yard
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my sprite, Margret, 35
That's speaking now to thee.
She stretched out her lilly-white hand,
As for to do her best:
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,
God send your soul good rest. 40
Now she has kilted her robes of green,
A piece below her knee:
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed shee.
Is there any room at your head, Willie? 45
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?
There's nae room at my head, Margret,
There's nae room at my feet, 50
There's no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin is made so meet.
Then up and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 55
That 'I' were gane away.
[No more the ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous grone,
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone. 60
O stay, my only true love, stay,
The constant Margret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,
Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.]