FOOTNOTES:
[389] This book has been pursued by me for years, with the coöperation of many friends and agents, but in vain.
[390] Followed by Virgil's riddle, Ecl. iii, 104-5, Where is the sky but three spans broad?
[391] Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 150; Halliwell's Nursery Rhymes, No 375; Notes and Queries, 3d Ser., IX, 401; 4th Ser., III, 501, 604; Macmillan's Magazine, V, 248, by T. Hughes. The first of these runs:
I have four sisters beyond the sea,
Para-mara, dictum, domine
And they did send four presents to me.
Partum, quartum, paradise, tempum,
Para-mara, dictum, domine
The first it was a bird without eer a bone,
The second was a cherry without eer a stone.
The third it was a blanket without eer a thread,
The fourth it was a book which no man could read.
How can there be a bird without eer a bone?
How can there be a cherry without eer a stone?
How can there be a blanket without eer a thread?
How can there be a book which no man can read?
When the bird's in the shell, there is no bone;
When the cherry's in the bud, there is no stone.
When the blanket's in the fleece, there is no thread;
When the book's in the press, no man can read.
The Minnesinger dames went far beyond our laird's daughter in the way of requiring "ferlies" from their lovers. Der Tanhuser and Boppe represent that their ladies would be satisfied with nothing short of their turning the course of rivers; bringing them the salamander, the basilisk, the graal, Paris's apple; giving them a sight of Enoch and Elijah in the body, a hearing of the sirens, etc. Von der Hagen, Minnesinger, II, 91 f, 385 f.
[392] There were, no doubt, Grissels enough in the very distinguished family of the Sinclairs of Roslin to furnish one for this ballad. I see two mentioned among the Sinclairs of Herdmanstoun. Even a Wedderburn connection, as I am informed, is not absolutely lacking. George Home of Wedderburn († 1497), married the eldest daughter of John Sinclair of Herdmanstoun: Douglas's Peerage of Scotland, ed. Wood, 1813, II, 174.
[393] The difficulty here is the want of a [Greek: pou stô], from which to climb the tree.
[394] These number-riddles or songs are known to every nation of Europe. E. g., Chambers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 44, ed. 1870, from Buchan's MSS, I, 280:
O what will be our ane, boys?
O what will be our ane, boys?
My only ane, she walks alane,
And evermair has dune, boys, etc.
See Köhler in Orient u. Occident, II, 558-9. A dragon, in Hahn's Griechische u. Albanesische Märchen, II, 210, gives Penteklimas ten of these number-riddles: if he answers them he is to have a fine castle; if not, he is to be eaten. An old woman answers for him: "One is God, two are the righteous, etc.; ten is your own word, and now burst, dragon!" The dragon bursts, and Penteklimas inherits his possessions.
[395] Gozzi retains the first and third riddles, Schiller only the third. By a happy idea, new riddles were introduced at the successive performances of Schiller's play. Turandot appears as a traditional tale in Schneller's Märchen u. Sagen aus Wälschtirol, No 49, p. 132, "I tre Indovinelli."
[396] The castle with walls and gate thus equipped, or a palisade of stakes each crowned with a head, is all but a commonplace in such adventures. This grim stroke of fancy is best in 'La mule sanz frain,' where there are four hundred stakes, all but one surmounted with a bloody head: Méon, Nouveau Recueil, 1, 15, vv 429-37. For these parlous princesses, of all sorts, see Grundtvig, 'Den farlige Jomfru,' IV, 43 ff, No 184.
[397] Von Hammer, Geschichte der schönen Redekünste Persiens, p. 116, previously cited by von der Hagen, Gesammtabenteuer, III, lxii.
[398] The German schwank affixes the forfeit of the head to failure. In the Norwegian the unsuccessful brothers get off with a thrashing. The fire in the English, found also in the German, recalls the third task in the Gesta Romanorum.
[399] Khudyakof, in the Ethnographical Collection of the Russian Geographical Society, Etnografitcheskiy Sbornik, etc., VI, 9, 10, 8. Ralston, The Songs of the Russian People, p. 353.
[400] Vigfusson objects to Thor being the interlocutor, though that is the name in the MS., because cunning does not suit Thor's blunt character, and proposes Odin instead. "May be the dwarf first met Thor (Wingthor), whereupon Woden (Wingi) came up." Corpus Poeticum Boreale, I, 81.
[47]
PROUD LADY MARGARET
[A]. 'Proud Lady Margaret,' Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 275, ed. 1803.
[B]. a. 'The Courteous Knight,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 91; Motherwell's MS., p. 591. b. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxxxi.
[C]. 'The Jolly Hind Squire,' Buchan's MSS, II, 95.
[D]. 'The Knicht o Archerdale,' Harris MS., fol. 7, No 3.
[E]. 'Fair Margret,' A. Laing, Ancient Ballads and Songs, MS., 1829, p. 6.
A was communicated to Scott "by Mr Hamilton, music-seller, Edinburgh, with whose mother it had been a favorite." Two stanzas and one line were wanting, and were supplied by Scott "from a different ballad, having a plot somewhat similar." The stanzas were 6 and 9. C was printed from the MS., with a few changes, under the title of 'The Bonny Hind Squire,' by Dixon, in Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 42, and from Dixon in Bell's Early Ballads, p. 183. Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 28, says the ballad was called 'Jolly Janet' by the old people in Aberdeenshire.
A-D are plainly compounded of two ballads, the conclusion being derived from E. The lady's looking oer her castle wa, her putting riddles, and her having gard so mony die, make the supposition far from incredible that the Proud Lady Margaret of the first part of the ballad may originally have been one of the cruel princesses spoken of in the preface to '[Captain Wedderburn's Courtship],' p. [417]. But the corrupt condition of the texts of A-D forbids any confident opinion.
A dead mistress similarly admonishes her lover, in a ballad from Brittany, given in Ampère, Instructions relatives aux Poésies populaires de la France, p. 36.
"Non, je ne dors ni ne soumeille,
Je sis dans l'enfer à brûler.
"Auprès de moi reste une place,
C'est pour vous, Piar', qu'on l'a gardée."
"Ha! dites-moi plustot, ma Jeanne,
Comment fair' pour n'y point aller?"
"Il faut aller à la grand-messe,
Et aux vêpres, sans y manquer.
"Faut point aller aux fileries,
Comm' vous aviez d'accoutumé.
"Ne faut point embrasser les filles
Sur l' bout du coffre au pied du lect."
So Beaurepaire, Étude, p. 53; Puymaigre, 'La Damnée,' Chants populaires, I, 115; V. Smith, Chants du Velay et du Forez, Romania, IV, 449 f, 'La Concubine;' and Luzel, "Celui qui alla voir sa maitresse en enfer," I, 44, 45. In this last, a lover, whose mistress has died, goes into a monastery, where he prays continually that he may see her again. The devil presents himself in the likeness of a young man, and on condition of being something gently considered takes him to hell. He sees his mistress sitting in a fiery chair (cf. B, 30, 31), devoured by serpents night and day, and is informed that fasts and masses on his part will only make things worse. Like Dives, she sends word to her sister not to do as she has done. Some of these traits are found also in one or another of the French versions.
Translated by Doenniges, p. 6, after Scott, and by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 1, after Aytoun, II, 62.
A.
Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 275, ed. 1803. Communicated "by Mr Hamilton, music-seller, Edinburgh, with whose mother it had been a favorite."
1
'T was on a night, an evening bright,
When the dew began to fa,
Lady Margaret was walking up and down,
Looking oer her castle wa.
2
She looked east and she looked west,
To see what she could spy,
When a gallant knight came in her sight,
And to the gate drew nigh.
3
'You seem to be no gentleman,
You wear your boots so wide;
But you seem to be some cunning hunter,
You wear the horn so syde.'
4
'I am no cunning hunter,' he said,
'Nor neer intend to be;
But I am come to this castle
To seek the love of thee.
And if you do not grant me love,
This night for thee I'll die.'
5
'If you should die for me, sir knight,
There's few for you will meane;
For mony a better has died for me,
Whose graves are growing green.
6
['But ye maun read my riddle,' she said,
'And answer my questions three;
And but ye read them right,' she said,
'Gae stretch ye out and die.]
7
'Now what is the flower, the ae first flower,
Springs either on moor or dale?
And what is the bird, the bonnie bonnie bird,
Sings on the evening gale?'
8
'The primrose is the ae first flower
Springs either on moor or dale,
And the thristlecock is the bonniest bird
Sings on the evening gale.'
9
['But what's the little coin,' she said,
'Wald buy my castle bound?
And what's the little boat,' she said,
'Can sail the world all round?']
10
'O hey, how mony small pennies
Make thrice three thousand pound?
Or hey, how mony salt fishes
Swim a' the salt sea round?'
11
'I think you maun be my match,' she said,
'My match and something mair;
You are the first eer got the grant
Of love frae my father's heir.
12
'My father was lord of nine castles,
My mother lady of three;
My father was lord of nine castles,
And there's nane to heir but me.
13
'And round about a' thae castles
You may baith plow and saw,
And on the fifteenth day of May
The meadows they will maw.'
14
'O hald your tongue, Lady Margaret,' he said,
'For loud I hear you lie;
Your father was lord of nine castles,
Your mother was lady of three;
Your father was lord of nine castles,
But ye fa heir to but three.
15
'And round about a' thae castles
You may baith plow and saw,
But on the fifteenth day of May
The meadows will not maw.
16
'I am your brother Willie,' he said,
'I trow ye ken na me;
I came to humble your haughty heart,
Has gard sae mony die.'
17
'If ye be my brother Willie,' she said,
'As I trow weel ye be,
This night I'll neither eat nor drink,
But gae alang wi thee.'
18
'O hold your tongue, Lady Margaret,' he said,
'Again I hear you lie;
For ye've unwashen hands and ye've unwashen feet,
To gae to clay wi me.
19
'For the wee worms are my bedfellows,
And cauld clay is my sheets,
And when the stormy winds do blow,
My body lies and sleeps.'
B.
a. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, 1, 91; Motherwell's MS., p. 591. b. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxxxi.
1
There was a knight, in a summer's night,
Appeard in a lady's hall,
As she was walking up and down,
Looking oer her castle wall.
2
'God make you safe and free, fair maid,
God make you safe and free!'
'O sae fa you, ye courteous knight,
What are your wills wi me?'
3
'My wills wi you are not sma, lady,
My wills wi you nae sma,
And since there's nane your bower within,
Ye'se hae my secrets a'.
4
'For here am I a courtier,
A courtier come to thee,
And if ye winna grant your love,
All for your sake I'll dee.'
5
'If that ye dee for me, sir knight,
Few for you will make meen;
For mony gude lord's done the same,
Their graves are growing green.'
6
'O winna ye pity me, fair maid,
O winna ye pity me?
O winna ye pity a courteous knight,
Whose love is laid on thee?'
7
'Ye say ye are a courteous knight,
But I think ye are nane;
I think ye're but a millar bred,
By the colour o your claithing.
8
'You seem to be some false young man,
You wear your hat sae wide;
You seem to be some false young man,
You wear your boots sae side.'
9
'Indeed I am a courteous knight,
And of great pedigree;
Nae knight did mair for a lady bright
Than I will do for thee.
10
'O I'll put smiths in your smithy,
To shoe for you a steed,
And I'll put tailors in your bower,
To make for you a weed.
11
'I will put cooks in your kitchen,
And butlers in your ha,
And on the tap o your father's castle
I'll big gude corn and saw.'
12
'If ye be a courteous knight,
As I trust not ye be,
Ye'll answer some o the sma questions
That I will ask at thee.
13
'What is the fairest flower, tell me,
That grows in mire or dale?
Likewise, which is the sweetest bird
Sings next the nightingale?
Or what's the finest thing,' she says,
'That king or queen can wile?'
14
'The primrose is the fairest flower
That grows in mire or dale;
The mavis is the sweetest bird
Next to the nightingale;
And yellow gowd's the finest thing
That king or queen can wale.
15
'Ye hae asked many questions, lady,
I've you as many told;'
'But how many pennies round
Make a hundred pounds in gold?
16
'How many of the small fishes
Do swim the salt seas round?
Or what's the seemliest sight you'll see
Into a May morning?'
* * * * *
17
'Berry-brown ale and a birken speal,
And wine in a horn green;
A milk-white lace in a fair maid's dress
Looks gay in a May morning.'
18
'Mony's the questions I've askd at thee,
And ye've answerd them a';
Ye are mine, and I am thine,
Amo the sheets sae sma.
19
'You may be my match, kind sir,
You may be my match and more;
There neer was ane came sic a length
Wi my father's heir before.
20
'My father's lord o nine castles,
My mother she's lady ower three,
And there is nane to heir them all,
No never a ane but me;
Unless it be Willie, my ae brother,
But he's far ayont the sea.'
21
'If your father's laird o nine castles,
Your mother lady ower three,
I am Willie your ae brother,
Was far beyond the sea.'
22
'If ye be Willie, my ae brother,
As I doubt sair ye be,
But if it's true ye tell me now,
This night I'll gang wi thee.'
23
'Ye've ower ill washen feet, Janet,
And ower ill washen hands,
And ower coarse robes on your body,
Alang wi me to gang.
24
'The worms they are my bed-fellows,
And the cauld clay my sheet,
And the higher that the wind does blaw,
The sounder I do sleep.
25
'My body's buried in Dumfermline,
And far beyond the sea,
But day nor night nae rest coud get,
All for the pride o thee.
26
'Leave aff your pride, jelly Janet,' he says,
'Use it not ony mair;
Or when ye come where I hae been
You will repent it sair.
27
'Cast aff, cast aff, sister,' he says,
'The gowd lace frae your crown;
For if ye gang where I hae been,
Ye'll wear it laigher down.
28
'When ye're in the gude church set,
The gowd pins in your hair,
Ye take mair delight in your feckless dress
Than ye do in your morning prayer.
29
'And when ye walk in the church-yard,
And in your dress are seen,
There is nae lady that sees your face
But wishes your grave were green.
30
'You're straight and tall, handsome withall,
But your pride owergoes your wit,
But if ye do not your ways refrain,
In Pirie's chair ye'll sit.
31
'In Pirie's chair you'll sit, I say,
The lowest seat o hell;
If ye do not amend your ways,
It's there that ye must dwell.'
32
Wi that he vanishd frae her sight,
Wi the twinkling o an eye;
Naething mair the lady saw
But the gloomy clouds and sky.
C.
Buchan's MSS, II, 95.
1
Once there was a jolly hind squire
Appeard in a lady's ha,
And aye she walked up and down,
Looking oer her castle wa.
2
'What is your wills wi me, kind sir?
What is your wills wi me?'
'My wills are [not] sma wi thee, lady,
My wills are [not] sma wi thee.
3
'For here I stand a courtier,
And a courtier come to thee,
And if ye will not grant me your love,
For your sake I will die.'
4
'If you die for my sake,' she says,
'Few for you will make moan;
Many better's died for my sake,
Their graves are growing green.
5
'You appear to be some false young man,
You wear your hat so wide;
You appear to be some false young man,
You wear your boots so side.
6
'An asking, asking, sir,' she said,
'An asking ye'll grant me:'
'Ask on, ask on, lady,' he said,
'What may your asking be?'
7
'What's the first thing in flower,' she said,
'That springs in mire or dale?
What's the next bird that sings,' she says,
'Unto the nightingale?
Or what is the finest thing,' she says,
'That king or queen can wile?'
8
'The primrose is the first in flower
That springs in mire or dale;
The thristle-throat is the next that sings
Unto the nightingale;
And yellow gold is the finest thing
That king or queen can wile.
9
'You have asked many questions, lady,
I've you as many told;'
'But how many pennies round
Make a hundred pounds in gold?
10
'How many small fishes
Do swim the salt seas round?
Or what's the seemliest sight you'll see
Into a May morning?
* * * * *
11
'There's ale into the birken scale,
Wine in the horn green;
There's gold in the king's banner
When he is fighting keen.'
12
'You may be my match, kind sir,' she said,
'You may be my match and more;
There neer was one came such a length
With my father's heir before.
13
'My father's lord of nine castles,
No body heir but me.'
'Your father's lord of nine castles,
Your mother's lady of three;
14
'Your father's heir of nine castles,
And you are heir to three;
For I am William, thy ae brother,
That died beyond the sea.'
15
'If ye be William, my ae brother,
This night, O well is me!
If ye be William, my ae brother,
This night I'll go with thee.'
16
'For no, for no, jelly Janet,' he says,
'For no, that cannot be;
You've oer foul feet and ill washen hands
To be in my company.
17
'For the wee wee worms are my bedfellows,
And the cold clay is my sheet,
And the higher that the winds do blow,
The sounder I do sleep.
18
'Leave off your pride, jelly Janet,' he says,
'Use it not any more;
Or when you come where I have been
You will repent it sore.
19
'When you go in at yon church door,
The red gold on your hair,
More will look at your yellow locks
Than look on the Lord's prayer.
20
'When you go in at yon church door,
The red gold on your crown;
When you come where I have been,
You'll wear it laigher down.'
21
The jolly hind squire, he went away
In the twinkling of an eye,
Left the lady sorrowful behind,
With many bitter cry.
D.
Harris's MS., fol. 7, No 3. From Mrs Harris's recitation.
1
There cam a knicht to Archerdale,
His steed was winder sma,
An there he spied a lady bricht,
Luikin owre her castle wa.
2
'Ye dinna seem a gentle knicht,
Though on horseback ye do ride;
Ye seem to be some sutor's son,
Your butes they are sae wide.'
3
'Ye dinna seem a lady gay,
Though ye be bound wi pride;
Else I'd gane bye your father's gate
But either taunt or gibe.'
4
He turned aboot his hie horse head,
An awa he was boun to ride,
But neatly wi her mouth she spak:
Oh bide, fine squire, oh bide.
5
'Bide, oh bide, ye hindy squire,
Tell me mair o your tale;
Tell me some o that wondrous lied
Ye've learnt in Archerdale.
6
'What gaes in a speal?' she said,
'What in a horn green?
An what gaes on a lady's head,
Whan it is washen clean?'
7
'Ale gaes in a speal,' he said,
'Wine in a horn green;
An silk gaes on a lady's head,
Whan it is washen clean.'
8
Aboot he turned his hie horse head,
An awa he was boun to ride,
When neatly wi her mouth she spak:
Oh bide, fine squire, oh bide.
9
'Bide, oh bide, ye hindy squire,
Tell me mair o your tale;
Tell me some o that unco lied
You've learnt in Archerdale.
10
'Ye are as like my ae brither
As ever I did see;
But he's been buried in yon kirkyaird
It's mair than years is three.'
11
'I am as like your ae brither
As ever ye did see;
But I canna get peace into my grave,
A' for the pride o thee.
12
'Leave pride, Janet, leave pride, Janet,
Leave pride an vanitie;
If ye come the roads that I hae come,
Sair warned will ye be.
13
'Ye come in by yonder kirk
Wi the goud preens in your sleeve;
When you're bracht hame to yon kirkyaird,
You'll gie them a' thier leave.
14
'Ye come in to yonder kirk
Wi the goud plaits in your hair;
When you're bracht hame to yon kirkyaird,
You will them a' forbear.'
15
He got her in her mither's bour,
Puttin goud plaits in her hair;
He left her in her father's gairden,
Mournin her sins sae sair.
E.
Alex. Laing, Ancient Ballads and Songs, etc., etc., from the recitation of old people. Never published. 1829. P. 6.
1
Fair Margret was a young ladye,
An come of high degree;
Fair Margret was a young ladye,
An proud as proud coud be.
2
Fair Margret was a rich ladye,
The king's cousin was she;
Fair Margaret was a rich ladye,
An vain as vain coud be.
3
She war'd her wealth on the gay cleedin
That comes frae yont the sea,
She spent her time frae morning till night
Adorning her fair bodye.
4
Ae night she sate in her stately ha,
Kaimin her yellow hair,
When in there cum like a gentle knight,
An a white scarf he did wear.
5
'O what's your will wi me, sir knight,
O what's your will wi me?
You're the likest to my ae brother
That ever I did see.
6
'You're the likest to my ae brother
That ever I hae seen,
But he's buried in Dunfermline kirk,
A month an mair bygane.'
7
'I'm the likest to your ae brother
That ever ye did see,
But I canna get rest into my grave,
A' for the pride of thee.
8
'Leave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret,
Leave pride an vanity;
Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen,
Sair altered ye maun be.
9
'O ye come in at the kirk-door
Wi the gowd plaits in your hair;
But wud ye see what I hae seen,
Ye maun them a' forbear.
10
'O ye come in at the kirk-door
Wi the gowd prins i your sleeve;
But wad ye see what I hae seen,
Ye maun gie them a' their leave.
11
'Leave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret,
Leave pride an vanity;
Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen,
Sair altered ye maun be.'
12
He got her in her stately ha,
Kaimin her yellow hair,
He left her on her sick sick bed,
Sheding the saut saut tear.
153,4, 161,2, C 93,4, 101,2 are rightly answers, not questions: cf. A 9, 10. D 6 furnishes the question answered in B 17.
[B]. b.
Motherwell begins at st. 25.
272. gowd band.
281, 291. kirk.
302. owergangs.
322. In the.
323. And naething.
[C].
Kind Squire in the title, and kind in 11, 211; I suppose by mistake of my copyist.
163. You're (?).
172. the clay cold.
[E].
83, 113. E'er.
[48]
YOUNG ANDREW
Percy MS., p. 292. Hales and Furnivall, II, 328.
'Young Andrew' is known only from the Percy manuscript. The story recalls both '[Lady Isabel and the Elf-Knight],' No 4, and '[The Fair Flower of Northumberland],' No 9. The lady, Helen, 253, is bidden to take, and does take, gold with her in stanzas 5-7, as in No 4, English E 2, 3, D 7, Danish A 12, E 7, 9, I 5, L 5, 6, and nearly all the Polish copies, and again in No 9, A 14. She is stripped of her clothes and head-gear in 8-17, as in No 4, English C-E, German G, H, and many of the Polish versions. These are destined by Young Andrew for his lady ("that dwells so far in a strange country") in 10, 12, 14, as by Ulinger for his sister, and by Adelger for his mother, in German G 18, H 15. In 15 the lady entreats Young Andrew to leave her her smock; so in No 4, Polish L 8, "You brought me from home in a green gown; take me back in a shift of tow," and R 13, "You took me away in red satin; let me go back at least in a smock." 18 has the choice between dying and going home again which is presented in 'Lady Isabel,' Polish AA 4, H 10, R 11, and implied in 'The Fair Flower of Northumberland,' D 2-5; in A 25 of this last the choice is between dying and being a paramour. In 20, 21, the lady says, "If my father ever catches you, you're sure to flower a gallows-tree," etc.; in No 4, Polish J 5, "If God would grant me to reach the other bank, you know, wretch, what death you would die." The father is unrelenting in this ballad, v. 26, and receives his daughter with severity in 'The Fair Flower of Northumberland,' B 13, C 13. The conclusion of 'Young Andrew' is mutilated and hard to make out. He seems to have been pursued and caught, as John is in the Polish ballads, O, P, T, etc., of No 4. Why he was not promptly disposed of, and how the wolf comes into the story, will probably never be known.
1
As I was cast in my ffirst sleepe,
A dreadffull draught in my mind I drew,
Ffor I was dreamed of a yong man,
Some men called him yonge Andrew.
2
The moone shone bright, and itt cast a ffayre light,
Sayes shee, Welcome, my honey, my hart, and my sweete!
For I haue loued thee this seuen long yeere,
And our chance itt was wee cold neuer meete.
3
Then he tooke her in his armes two,
And kissed her both cheeke and chin,
And twise or thrise he pleased this may
Before they tow did part in twinn.
4
Saies, Now, good sir, you haue had your will,
You can demand no more of mee;
Good sir, remember what you said before,
And goe to the church and marry mee.
5
'Ffaire maid, I cannott doe as I wold;
. . . . . . .
Goe home and fett thy fathers redd gold,
And I'le goe to the church and marry thee.
6
This ladye is gone to her ffathers hall,
And well she knew where his red gold lay,
And counted fforth five hundred pound,
Besides all other iuells and chaines:
7
And brought itt all to younge Andrew,
Itt was well counted vpon his knee;
Then he tooke her by the lillye white hand,
And led her vp to an hill soe hye.
8
Shee had vpon a gowne of blacke veluett,
(A pittyffull sight after yee shall see:)
'Put of thy clothes, bonny wenche,' he sayes,
'For noe ffoote further thoust gang with mee.'
9
But then shee put of her gowne of veluett,
With many a salt teare from her eye,
And in a kirtle of ffine breaden silke
Shee stood beffore young Andrews eye.
10
Sais, O put off thy kirtle of silke,
Ffor some and all shall goe with mee;
And to my owne lady I must itt beare,
Who I must needs loue better then thee.
11
Then shee put of her kirtle of silke,
With many a salt teare still ffrom her eye;
In a peticoate of scarlett redd
Shee stood before young Andrewes eye.
12
Saies, O put of thy peticoate,
For some and all of itt shall goe with mee;
And to my owne lady I will itt beare,
Which dwells soe ffarr in a strange countrye.
13
But then shee put of her peticoate,
With many a salt teare still from her eye,
And in a smocke of braue white silke
Shee stood before young Andrews eye.
14
Saies, O put of thy smocke of silke,
For some and all shall goe with mee;
Vnto my owne ladye I will itt beare,
That dwells soe ffarr in a strange countrye.
15
Sayes, O remember, young Andrew,
Once of a woman you were borne;
And ffor that birth that Marye bore,
I pray you let my smocke be vpon!
16
'Yes, ffayre ladye, I know itt well,
Once of a woman I was borne;
Yett ffor noe birth that Mary bore,
Thy smocke shall not be left here vpon.'
17
But then shee put of her head-geere ffine;
Shee hadd billaments worth a hundred pound;
The hayre that was vpon this bony wench head
Couered her bodye downe to the ground.
18
Then he pulled forth a Scottish brand,
And held itt there in his owne right hand;
Saies, Whether wilt thou dye vpon my swords point, ladye,
Or thow wilt goe naked home againe?
19
'Liffe is sweet,' then, 'sir,' said shee,
'Therfore I pray you leaue mee with mine;
Before I wold dye on your swords point,
I had rather goe naked home againe.
20
'My ffather,' shee sayes, 'is a right good erle
As any remaines in his countrye;
If euer he doe your body take,
You'r sure to fflower a gallow tree.
21
'And I haue seuen brethren,' shee sayes,
'And they are all hardy men and bold;
Giff euer thé doe your body take,
You must neuer gang quicke ouer the mold.'
22
'If your ffather be a right good erle
As any remaines in his owne countrye,
Tush! he shall neuer my body take,
I'le gang soe ffast ouer the sea.
23
'If you haue seuen brethren,' he sayes,
'If they be neuer soe hardy or bold,
Tush! they shall neuer my body take,
I'le gang soe ffast into the Scottish mold.'
24
Now this ladye is gone to her fathers hall,
When euery body their rest did take;
But the Erle which was her ffather
Lay waken for his deere daughters sake.
25
'But who is that,' her ffather can say,
'That soe priuilye knowes the pinn?'
'It's Hellen, your owne deere daughter, ffather,
I pray you rise and lett me in.'
26
. . . . . . .
'Noe, by my hood!' quoth her ffather then,
'My [house] thoust neuer come within,
Without I had my red gold againe.'
27
'Nay, your gold is gone, ffather!' said shee,
. . . . . . .
'Then naked thou came into this world,
And naked thou shalt returne againe.'
28
'Nay! God fforgaue his death, father,' shee sayes,
'And soe I hope you will doe mee;'
'Away, away, thou cursed woman,
I pray God an ill death thou may dye!'
29
Shee stood soe long quacking on the ground
Till her hart itt burst in three;
And then shee ffell dead downe in a swoond,
And this was the end of this bonny ladye.
30
Ithe morning, when her ffather gott vpp,
A pittyffull sight there he might see;
His owne deere daughter was dead, without clothes,
The teares they trickeled fast ffrom his eye.
31
. . . . . . .
Sais, Fye of gold, and ffye of ffee!
For I sett soe much by my red gold
That now itt hath lost both my daughter and mee!'
32
. . . . . . .
But after this time he neere dought good day,
But as flowers doth fade in the frost,
Soe he did wast and weare away.
33
But let vs leaue talking of this ladye,
And talke some more of young Andrew;
Ffor ffalse he was to this bonny ladye,
More pitty that he had not beene true.
34
He was not gone a mile into the wild forrest,
Or halfe a mile into the hart of Wales,
But there they cought him by such a braue wyle
That hee must come to tell noe more tales.
* * * * *
35
. . . . . . .
Ffull soone a wolfe did of him smell,
And shee came roaring like a beare,
And gaping like a ffeend of hell.
36
Soe they ffought together like two lyons,
And fire betweene them two glashet out;
Thé raught eche other such a great rappe,
That there young Andrew was slaine, well I wott.
37
But now young Andrew he is dead,
But he was neuer buryed vnder mold,
For ther as the wolfe devoured him,
There lyes all this great erles gold.
13. of one.
33. 2.se, 3.se.
74. to one. 172. 100_{:}li.
191. My liffe.
252. that pinn.
303. any follows without, but is crossed out.
304. they teares.
334. itt had.
Arabic numbers are in several cases expressed in letters.
[49]
THE TWA BROTHERS
[A]. Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 56, No 19.
[B]. 'The Cruel Brother,' Motherwell's MS., p. 259. From the recitation of Mrs McCormick.
[C]. 'The Twa Brithers,' Motherwell's MS., p. 649. From the recitation of Mrs Cunningham.
[D]. 'The Twa Brothers, or, The Wood o Warslin,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 59. From the recitation of Mrs Arrott.
[E]. 'The Twa Brothers,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 60.
[F]. 'The Two Brothers,' Buchan's MSS, I, 57; Motherwell's MS., p. 662.
[G]. a. 'John and William,' taken down from the singing of little girls in South Boston. b. From a child in New York. Both communicated by Mr W. W. Newell.
All the Scottish versions were obtained within the first third of this century, and since then no others have been heard of. It is interesting to find the ballad still in the mouths of children in American cities,—in the mouths of the poorest, whose heritage these old things are.[401] The American versions, though greatly damaged, preserve the names John and William, which all the other copies have.
B and C are considerably corrupted. It need hardly be mentioned that the age of the boys in the first two stanzas of B does not suit the story. According to C 8, 15, the mother had cursed John, before he left home, with a wish that he might never return; and in C 9, John sends word to his true-love that he is in his grave for her dear sake alone. These points seem to have been taken from some copy of 'Willie and May Margaret,' or 'The Drowned Lovers.' The conclusion of both B and C belongs to 'Sweet William's Ghost.' C 18 may be corrected by B 10, though there is an absurd jumble of pipes and harp in the latter. The harp, in a deft hand, effects like wonders in many a ballad: e. g., 'Harpens Kraft,' Grundtvig, II, 65, No 40; even a pipe in C 14-16 of the same.
D, E, F, G supplement the story with more or less of the ballad of 'Edward:' see p. 168.
Jamieson inquires for this ballad in the Scots Magazine for October, 1803, p. 701, at which time he had only the first stanza and the first half of the third. He fills out the imperfect stanza nearly as in the copy which he afterwards printed:
But out an Willie's taen his knife,
And did his brother slay.
Of the five other Scottish versions, all except B make the deadly wound to be the result of accident, and this is, in Motherwell's view, a point essential. The other reading, he says, is at variance with the rest of the story, and "sweeps away the deep impression this simple ballad would otherwise have made upon the feelings: for it is almost unnecessary to mention that its touching interest is made to centre in the boundless sorrow and cureless remorse of him who had been the unintentional cause of his brother's death, and in the solicitude which that high-minded and generous spirit expresses, even in the last agonies of nature, for the safety and fortunes of the truly wretched and unhappy survivor." But the generosity of the dying man is plainly greater if his brother has killed him in an outburst of passion; and what is gained this way will fully offset the loss, if any, which comes from the fratricide having cause for "cureless remorse" as well as boundless sorrow. Motherwell's criticism, in fact, is not quite intelligible. (Minstrelsy, p. 61.)
The variation in the story is the same as that between the English 'Cruel Brother' and the German 'Graf Friedrich:' in the former the bride is killed by her offended brother; in the latter it is the bridegroom's sword slipping from its sheath that inflicts the mortal hurt.
Motherwell was inclined to believe, and Kirkpatrick Sharpe was convinced, that this ballad was founded upon an event that happened near Edinburgh as late as 1589, that of one of the Somervilles having been killed by his brother's pistol accidentally going off. Sharpe afterward found a case of a boy of thirteen killing a young brother in anger at having his hair pulled. This most melancholy story, the particulars of which are given in the last edition of the Ballad Book, p. 130, note xix, dates nearly a hundred years later, 1682. Only the briefest mention need be made of these unusually gratuitous surmises.
Kirkland, in D, was probably suggested by the kirkyard of other versions, assisted, possibly, by a reminiscence of the Kirkley in 'Robin Hood's Death and Burial;' for it will be observed that stanzas 8, 9 of D come pretty near to those in which Robin Hood gives direction for his grave; F 9, 10, B 5, 6 less near.[402]
Cunningham has entitled a romance of his, upon the theme of 'The Two Brothers' (which, once more, he ventures to print nearly in the state in which he once had the pleasure of hearing it sung), 'Fair Annie of Kirkland:' Songs of Scotland, II, 16.
The very pathetic passage in which the dying youth directs that father, mother, and sister shall be kept in ignorance of his death, and then, feeling how vain the attempt to conceal the fact from his true-love will be, bids that she be informed that he is in his grave and will never come back, is too truly a touch of nature to be found only here. Something similar occurs in 'Mary Hamilton,' where, however, the circumstances are very different:
'And here's to the jolly sailor lad
That sails upon the faeme!
And let not my father nor mother get wit
But that I shall come again.
'And here's to the jolly sailor lad
That sails upon the sea!
But let not my father nor mother get wit
O the death that I maun dee.'
In a fine Norse ballad (see 'Brown Robyn's Confession,' further on) a man who is to be thrown overboard to save a ship takes his leave of the world with these words:
'If any of you should get back to land,
And my foster-mother ask for me,
Tell her I'm serving in the king's court,
And living right merrily.
'If any of you should get back to land,
And my true-love ask for me,
Bid her to marry another man,
For I am under the sea.'
A baron, who has been mortally wounded in a duel, gives this charge to his servant:
'Faites mes compliments à ma femme,
Mais ne lui dites pas que j'ai été tué;
Mais dites lui que je serai allé à Paris,
Pour saluer le roi Louis.
'Dites que je serai allé à Paris,
Pour saluer le roi Louis,
Et que j'ai acheté un nouveau cheval,
Le petit cœur de mon cheval était trop gai.'
(Le Seigneur de Rosmadec, Luzel, I, 368/369, 374/375.)
In like manner a dying klepht: "If our comrades ask about me, tell them not that I have died: say only that I have married in strange lands; have taken the flat stone for mother-in-law, the black earth for my wife, the black worms for brothers-in-law." Zambelios, p. 606, No 11, Fauriel, I, 51, Passow, p. 118, No 152; and again, Zambelios, p. 672, No 94, Passow, p. 113, No 146. In the Danish 'Elveskud,' Grundtvig, II, 115, No 47, B* 18, Ole would simply have the tragic truth kept from his bride:
'Hearken, Sir Ole, of mickle pride,
How shall I answer thy young bride?'
'You must say I am gone to the wood,
To prove horse and hounds, if they be good.'
Such questions and answers as we have in D 20, E 17, F 24, are of the commonest occurrence in popular poetry, and not unknown to the poetry of art. Ballads of the '[Edward]' class end generally or always in this way: see p. [168]. We have again the particular question and answer which occur here in '[Lizie Wan]' and in one version of 'The Trooper and Fair Maid,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 158. The question may be: When will you come back? When shall you cease to love me? When shall we be married? etc.; and the answer: When apple-trees grow in the seas; when fishes fly and seas gang dry; when all streams run together; when all swift streams are still; when it snows roses and rains wine; when all grass is rue; when the nightingale sings on the sea and the cuckoo is heard in winter; when poplars bear cherries and oaks roses; when feathers sink and stones swim; when sand sown on a stone germinates, etc., etc. See Virgil, Ecl. i, 59-63; Ovid, Met. xiii, 324-27; Wolf, Ueber die Lais, p. 433; 'Svend Vonved,' Grundtvig, I, 240, No 18, A, D; Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, 'Lord Jamie Douglas,' I, 232 f, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. vii, Kinloch, Finlay, etc.; Pills to Purge Melancholy, V, 37; 'Der verwundete Knabe,' 'Die verwundete Dame,' Mittler, Nos 49-53, Erk's Liederhort, pp 111-115, Wunderhorn, IV, 358-63, Longard, p. 39, No 18, Pröhle, Welt. u. geist. Volkslieder, p. 12, No 6; Meinert, pp 28, 60, 73; Uhland, p. 127, No 65; Wunderhorn (1857), II, 223, Reifferscheid, p. 23, Liederhort, p. 345, Erk, Neue Sammlung, ii, 39, Kretzschmer, I, 143; Zuccalmaglio, pp 103, 153, 595; Peter, Volksthümliches aus Öst.-schlesien, I, 274; Ditfurth, II, 9, No 10; Fiedler, p. 187; Des Turcken Vassnachtspiel, Tieck's Deutsches Theater, I, 8; Uhland, Zur Geschichte der Dichtung, III, 216 ff; Tigri, Canti popolari toscani (1860), pp 230-242, Nos 820, 822, 823, 832, 836-40, 857, 858, 862, 868; Visconti, Saggio dei Canti p. della Provincia di Marritima e Campagna, p. 21, No 18; Nino, Saggio di Canti p. sabinesi, p. 28 f, p. 30 f; Pitrè, Saggi di Critica letteraria, p. 25; Braga, Cantos p. do Archipelago açoriano, p. 220; Möckesch, Romänische Dichtungen, p. 6 f, No 2; Passow, p. 273 f, Nos 387, 388; B. Schmidt, Griechische Märchen, etc., p. 154, No 10, and note, p. 253; Morosi, Studi sui Dialetti greci della Terra d'Otranto, p. 30, lxxv, p. 32, lxxix; Pellegrini, Canti p. dei Greci di Cargese, p. 21; De Rada, Rapsodie d'un Poema albanese, p. 29; Haupt u. Schmaler, Volkslieder der Wenden, I, 76, No 47, I, 182, No 158, I, 299, No 300; Altmann, Balalaika, Russische Volkslieder, p. 233, No 184; Golovatsky, Narodnyya Piesni galitzskoy i ugorskoy Rusi, II, 585, No 18, III, i, 12, No 9; Maximovitch, Sbornik ukrainskikh Pyesen, p. 7, No 1, p. 107, No 30; Dozon, Chansons p. bulgares, p. 283, No 57; Bodenstedt, Die poetische Ukraine, p. 46, No 14; Jordan, Ueber kleinrussische Volkspoesie, Blätter für lit. Unterhaltung, 1840, No 252, p. 1014 (Uhland); Rhesa, Ueber litthauische Volkspoesie, in Beiträge zur Kunde Preussens, I, 523; Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, pp 147, 149: etc.
A is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 168; Afzelius, III, 7; Grimm, Drei altschottische Lieder, p. 5; Talvi, Charakteristik, p. 567; Rosa Warrens, Schottische V. L. der Vorzeit, p. 91. Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 4, translates Aytoun, I, 193.
A.
Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 56, No 19.
1
There were twa brethren in the north,
They went to the school thegither;
The one unto the other said,
Will you try a warsle afore?
2
They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till Sir John fell to the ground,
And there was a knife in Sir Willie's pouch,
Gied him a deadlie wound.
3
'Oh brither dear, take me on your back,
Carry me to yon burn clear,
And wash the blood from off my wound,
And it will bleed nae mair.'
4
He took him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon burn clear,
And washd the blood from off his wound,
But aye it bled the mair.
5
'Oh brither dear, take me on your back,
Carry me to yon kirk-yard,
And dig a grave baith wide and deep,
And lay my body there.'
6
He's taen him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon kirk-yard,
And dug a grave baith deep and wide,
And laid his body there.
7
'But what will I say to my father dear,
Gin he chance to say, Willie, whar's John?'
'Oh say that he's to England gone,
To buy him a cask of wine.'
8
'And what will I say to my mother dear,
Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar's John?'
'Oh say that he's to England gone,
To buy her a new silk gown.'
9
'And what will I say to my sister dear,
Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar's John?'
'Oh say that he's to England gone,
To buy her a wedding ring.'
10
'But what will I say to her you loe dear,
Gin she cry, Why tarries my John?'
'Oh tell her I lie in Kirk-land fair,
And home again will never come.'
B.
Motherwell's MS., p. 259. From Widow McCormick, January 19, 1825.
1
There was two little boys going to the school,
And twa little boys they be,
They met three brothers playing at the ba,
And ladies dansing hey.
2
'It's whether will ye play at the ba, brither,
Or else throw at the stone?'
'I am too little, I am too young,
O brother let me alone.'
3
He pulled out a little penknife,
That was baith sharp and sma,
He gave his brother a deadly wound
That was deep, long and sair.
4
He took the holland sark off his back,
He tore it frae breast to gare,
He laid it to the bloody wound,
That still bled mair and mair.
5
'It's take me on your back, brother,' he says,
'And carry me to yon kirk-yard,
And make me there a very fine grave,
That will be long and large.
6
'Lay my bible at my head,' he says,
'My chaunter at my feet,
My bow and arrows by my side,
And soundly I will sleep.
7
'When you go home, brother,' he says,
'My father will ask for me;
You may tell him I am in Saussif town,
Learning my lesson free.
8
'When you go home, brother,' he says,
'My mother will ask for me;
You may tell her I am in Sausaf town,
And I'll come home merrily.
9
'When you go home, brother,' he says,
'Lady Margaret will ask for me;
You may tell her I'm dead and in grave laid,
And buried in Sausaff toun.'
10
She put the small pipes to her mouth,
And she harped both far and near,
Till she harped the small birds off the briers,
And her true love out of the grave.
11
'What's this? what's this, lady Margaret?' he says,
'What's this you want of me?'
'One sweet kiss of your ruby lips,
That's all I want of thee.'
12
'My lips they are so bitter,' he says,
'My breath it is so strong,
If you get one kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be long.'
C.
Motherwell's MS., p. 649. From the recitation of Mrs Cunningham, Ayr.
1
There were twa brithers at ae scule;
As they were coming hame,
Then said the ane until the other
'John, will ye throw the stane?'
2
'I will not throw the stane, brither,
I will not play at the ba;
But gin ye come to yonder wood
I'll warsle you a fa.'
3
The firsten fa young Johnie got,
It brought him to the ground;
The wee pen-knife in Willie's pocket
Gied him a deadly wound.
4
'Tak aff, tak aff my holland sark,
And rive it frae gore to gore,
And stap it in my bleeding wounds,
They'll aiblins bleed noe more.'
5
He pouit aff his holland sark,
And rave it frae gore to gore,
And stapt it in his bleeding wounds,
But ay they bled the more.
6
'O brither, tak me on your back,
And bear me hence away,
And carry me to Chester kirk,
And lay me in the clay.'
7
'What will I say to your father,
This night when I return?'
'Tell him I'm gane to Chester scule,
And tell him no to murn.'
8
'What will I say to your mother,
This nicht whan I gae hame?'
'She wishd afore I cam awa
That I might neer gae hame.'
9
'What will I say to your true-love,
This nicht when I gae hame?'
'Tell her I'm dead and in my grave,
For her dear sake alane.'
10
He took him upon his back
And bore him hence away,
And carried him to Chester kirk,
And laid him in the clay.
11
He laid him in the cauld cauld clay,
And he cuirt him wi a stane,
And he's awa to his fathers ha,
Sae dowilie alane.
12
'You're welcome, dear son,' he said,
'You're welcome hame to me;
But what's come o your brither John,
That gade awa wi thee?'
13
'Oh he's awa to Chester scule,
A scholar he'll return;
He bade me tell his father dear
About him no to murn.'
14
'You're welcome hame, dear son,' she said,
'You're welcome hame to me;
But what's come o your brither John,
That gade awa wi thee?'
15
'He bade me tell his mother dear,
This nicht when I cam hame,
Ye wisht before he gade awa,
That he might neer return.'
16
Then next came up his true-love dear,
And heavy was her moan;
'You're welcome hame, dear Will,' she said,
'But whare's your brither John?'
17
'O lady, cease your trouble now,
O cease your heavy moan;
He's dead and in the cauld cauld clay,
For your dear sake alone.'
18
She ran distraught, she wept, she sicht,
She wept the sma brids frae the tree,
She wept the starns adoun frae the lift,
She wept the fish out o the sea.
19
'O cease your weeping, my ain true-love,
Ye but disturb my rest;'
'Is that my ain true lover John,
The man that I loe best?'
20
''T is naething but my ghaist,' he said,
'That's sent to comfort thee;
O cease your weeping, my true-love,
And 't will gie peace to me.'
D.
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 59. From the recitation of Mrs W. Arrott, of Aberbrothick.
1
'O will ye gae to the school, brother?
Or will ye gae to the ba?
Or will ye gae to the wood a-warslin,
To see whilk o's maun fa?'
2
'It's I winna gae to the school, brother,
Nor will I gae to the ba;
But I will gae to the wood a-warslin,
And it is you maun fa.'
3
They warstled up, they warstled down,
The lee-lang simmer's day;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
4
'O lift me up upon your back,
Tak me to yon wall fair;
You'll wash my bluidy wounds oer and oer,
And syne they'll bleed nae mair.
5
'And ye'll tak aff my hollin sark,
And riv 't frae gair to gair;
Ye'll stap it in my bluidy wounds,
And syne they'll bleed nae mair.'
6
He's liftit his brother upon his back,
Taen him to yon wall fair;
He's washed his bluidy wounds oer and oer,
But ay they bled mair and mair.
7
And he's taen aff his hollin sark,
And riven 't frae gair to gair;
He's stappit it in his bluidy wounds,
But ay they bled mair and mair.
8
'Ye'll lift me up upon your back,
Tak me to Kirkland fair;
Ye'll mak my greaf baith braid and lang,
And lay my body there.
9
'Ye'll lay my arrows at my head,
My bent bow at my feet,
My sword and buckler at my side,
As I was wont to sleep.
10
'Whan ye gae hame to your father,
He'll speer for his son John:
Say, ye left him into Kirkland fair,
Learning the school alone.
11
'When ye gae hame to my sister,
She'll speer for her brother John:
Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair,
The green grass growin aboon.
12
'Whan ye gae hame to my true-love,
She'll speer for her lord John:
Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair,
But hame ye fear he'll never come.'
13
He's gane hame to his father;
He speered for his son John:
'It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
Learning the school alone.'
14
And whan he gaed hame to his sister,
She speered for her brother John:
'It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
The green grass growin aboon.'
15
And whan he gaed home to his true-love,
She speerd for her lord John:
'It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
And hame I fear he'll never come.'
16
'But whaten bluid's that on your sword, Willie?
Sweet Willie, tell to me;'
'O it is the bluid o my grey hounds,
They wadna rin for me.'
17
'It's nae the bluid o your hounds, Willie,
Their bluid was never so red;
But it is the bluid o my true-love,
That ye hae slain indeed.'
18
That fair may wept, that fair may mournd,
That fair may mournd and pin'd:
'When every lady looks for her love,
I neer need look for mine.'
19
'O whaten a death will ye die, Willie?
Now, Willie, tell to me;'
'Ye'll put me in a bottomless boat,
And I'll gae sail the sea.'
20
'Whan will ye come hame again, Willie?
Now, Willie, tell to me;'
'Whan the sun and moon dances on the green,
And that will never be.'
E.
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 60.
1
There were twa brothers at the scule,
And when they got awa,
'It's will ye play at the stane-chucking,
Or will ye play at the ba,
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head,
And there we'll warsel a fa?'
2
'I winna play at the stane-chucking,
Nor will I play at the ba;
But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill,
And there we'll warsel a fa.'
3
They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till John fell to the ground;
A dirk fell out of William's pouch,
And gave John a deadly wound.
4
'O lift me upon your back,
Take me to yon well fair,
And wash my bluidy wounds oer and oer,
And they'll neer bleed nae mair.'
5
He's lifted his brother upon his back,
Taen him to yon well fair;
He's wash'd his bluidy wounds oer and oer,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.
6
'Tak ye aff my holland sark,
And rive it gair by gair,
And row it in my bluidy wounds,
And they'll neer bleed nae mair.'
7
He's taken aff his holland sark,
And torn it gair by gair;
He's rowit it in his bluidy wounds,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.
8
'Tak now aff my green cleiding,
And row me saftly in,
And tak me up to yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.'
9
He's taken aff the green cleiding,
And rowed him saftly in;
He's laid him down by yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.
10
'What will ye say to your father dear,
When ye gae hame at een?'
'I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.'
11
'O no, O no, my brother dear,
O you must not say so;
But say that I'm gane to a foreign land,
Whare nae man does me know.'
12
When he sat in his father's chair,
He grew baith pale and wan:
'O what blude's that upon your brow?
O dear son, tell to me;'
'It is the blude o my gude gray steed,
He wadna ride wi me.'
13
'O thy steed's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your cheek?
O dear son, tell to me;'
'It is the blude of my greyhound,
He wadna hunt for me.'
14
'O thy hound's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your hand?
O dear son, tell to me;'
'It is the blude of my gay goss-hawk,
He wadna flee for me.'
15
'O thy hawk's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your dirk?
Dear Willie, tell to me;'
'It is the blude of my ae brother,
O dule and wae is me!'
16
'O what will ye say to your father?
Dear Willie, tell to me;'
'I'll saddle my steed, and awa I'll ride,
To dwell in some far countrie.'
17
'O when will ye come hame again?
Dear Willie, tell to me;'
'When sun and mune leap on yon hill,
And that will never be.'
18
She turnd hersel right round about,
And her heart burst into three:
'My ae best son is deid and gane,
And my tother ane I'll neer see.'
F.
Buchan's MSS, I, 57; Motherwell's MS., p. 662.
1
There were twa brothers in the east,
Went to the school o Ayr;
The one unto the other did say,
Come let us wrestle here.
2
They wrestled up and wrestled down,
Till John fell to the ground;
There being a knife in Willie's pocket,
Gae John his deadly wound.
3
'O is it for my gold, brother?
Or for my white monie?
Or is it for my lands sae braid,
That ye hae killed me?'
4
'It is not for your gold,' he said,
'Nor for your white monie;
It is by the hand o accident
That I hae killed thee.'
5
'Ye'll take the shirt that's on my back,
Rive it frae gair to gair,
And try to stop my bloody wounds,
For they bleed wonderous sair.'
6
He's taen the shirt was on his back,
Reave it frae gare to gare,
And tried to stop his bleeding wounds,
But still they bled the mair.
7
'Ye'll take me up upon your back,
Carry me to yon water clear,
And try to stop my bloody wounds,
For they run wonderous sair.'
8
He's taen him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon water clear,
And tried to stop his bleeding wounds,
But still they bled the mair.
9
'Ye'll take me up upon your back,
Carry me to yon church-yard;
Ye'll dig a grave baith wide and deep,
And then ye'll lay me there.
10
'Ye'll put a head-stane at my head,
Another at my feet,
Likewise a sod on my breast-bane,
The souner I may sleep.
11
'Whenever my father asks of thee,
Saying, What's become of John?
Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea,
For a cargo of good wine.
12
'And when my sweetheart asks of thee,
Saying, What's become of John?
Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea,
To buy a wedding gown.
13
'And when my sister asks of thee,
Saying, William, where is John?
Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea,
To learn some merry sang.
14
'And when my mother asks of thee,
Saying, William, where is John?
Tell her I'm buried in green Fordland,
The grass growing ower my tomb.'
15
He's taen him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon church-yard,
And dug a grave baith wide and deep,
And he was buried there.
16
He laid a head-stane at his head,
Another at his feet,
And laid a green sod on his breast,
The souner he might sleep.
17
His father asked when he came hame,
Saying, 'William, where is John?'
Then John said, 'He is ower the sea,
To bring you hame some wine.'
18
'What blood is this upon you, William,
And looks sae red on thee?'
'It is the blood o my grey-hound,
He woudna run for me.'
19
'O that's nae like your grey-hound's blude,
William, that I do see;
I fear it is your own brother's blood
That looks sae red on thee.'
20
'That is not my own brother's blude,
Father, that ye do see;
It is the blood o my good grey steed,
He woudna carry me.'
21
'O that is nae your grey steed's blude,
William, that I do see;
It is the blood o your brother John,
That looks sae red on thee.'
22
'It's nae the blood o my brother John,
Father, that ye do see;
It is the blude o my good grey hawk,
Because he woudna flee.'
23
'O that is nae your grey hawk's blood,
William, that I do see:'
'Well, it's the blude o my brother,
This country I maun flee.'
24
'O when will ye come back again,
My dear son, tell to me?'
'When sun and moon gae three times round,
And this will never be.'
25
'Ohon, alas! now William, my son,
This is bad news to me;
Your brother's death I'll aye bewail,
And the absence o thee.'
G.
a. Taken down lately from the singing of little girls in South Boston. b. Two stanzas, from a child in New York, 1880. Communicated by Mr W. W. Newell.
1
As John and William were coming home one day,
One Saturday afternoon,
Says John to William, Come and try a fight,
Or will you throw a stone?
Or will you come down to yonder, yonder town
Where the maids are all playing ball, ball, ball,
Where the maids are all playing ball?
2
Says William to John, I will not try a fight,
Nor will I throw a stone,
Nor will I come down to yonder town,
Where the maids are all playing ball.
3
So John took out of his pocket
A knife both long and sharp,
And stuck it through his brother's heart,
And the blood came pouring down.
4
Says John to William, Take off thy shirt,
And tear it from gore to gore,
And wrap it round your bleeding heart,
And the blood will pour no more.'
5
So John took off his shirt,
And tore it from gore to gore,
And wrapped it round his bleeding heart,
And the blood came pouring more.
6
'What shall I tell your dear father,
When I go home to-night?'
'You'll tell him I'm dead and in my grave,
For the truth must be told.'
7
'What shall I tell your dear mother,
When I go home to-night?'
'You'll tell her I'm dead and in my grave,
For the truth must be told.'
8
'How came this blood upon your knife?
My son, come tell to me;'
'It is the blood of a rabbit I have killed,
O mother, pardon me.'
9
'The blood of a rabbit couldnt be so pure,
My son, come tell to me:'
'It is the blood of a squirrel I have killed,
O mother, pardon me.'
10
'The blood of a squirrel couldnt be so pure,
My son, come tell to me:'
'It is the blood of a brother I have killed,
O mother, pardon me.'
[A].
12. Var. to the chase.
103. "As to Kirk-land, my copy has only kirk-yard, till the last verse, where land has been added from conjecture." Sharpe's Ballad-Book, p. 56.
[D].
13, 23. o Warslin.
[F].
133. tell me free.
Motherwell has Scotticised the spelling.
94. Motherwell has leave.
111, 121, 131, 141. Motherwell, speirs at thee.
233. Motherwell has my ae brother.
[G]. b.
1.
Jack and William was gone to school,
One fine afternoon;
Jack says to William, Will you try a fight?
Do not throw no stones.
2.
Jack took out his little penknife,
The end of it was sharp,
He stuck it through his brother's heart,
And the blood was teeming down.