APPENDIX

ARTHUR’S SEAT SHALL BE MY BED, ETC., OR, LOVE IN DESPAIR

A new song much in request, sung with its own proper tune.

Laing, Broadsides Ballads, No. 61, not dated but considered to have been printed towards the end of the seventeenth or the beginning of the eighteenth century, and probably at Edinburgh.

1

Come lay me soft, and draw me near,

And lay thy white hand over me,

For I am starving in the cold,

And thou art bound to cover me.

2

O cover me in my distress,

And help me in my miserie,

For I do wake when I should sleep,

All for the love of my dearie.

3

My rents they are but very small

For to maintain my love withall,

But with my labour and my pain

I will maintain my love with them.

4

O Arthur’s Seat shall be my bed,

And the sheets shall never be fil’d for me,

St Anthony’s well shall be my drink,

Since my true-love’s forsaken me.

5

Should I be bound, that may go free?

Should I love them that loves not me?

I’le rather travel into Spain,

Where I’le get love for love again.

6

And I’le cast off my robs of black,

And will put on the robs of blue,

And I will to some other land

Till I see my love will on me rue.

7

It’s not the cold that makes me cry,

Nor is’t the weet that wearies me,

Nor is’t the frost that freezes fell;

But I love a lad, and I dare not tell.

8

O faith is gone and truth is past,

And my true-love’s forsaken me;

If all be true that I hear say,

I’le mourn until the day I die.

9

Oh, if I had nere been born

Than to have dy’d when I was young!

Then I had never wet my cheeks

For the love of any woman’s son.

10

Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurse’s knee,

And I my self were dead and gone!

For a maid again I’le never be.

11

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blow,

And blow the green leafs off the tree

O gentle Death, when wilt thou come!

For of my life I am wearie.

11. darw.

205
LOUDON HILL, OR, DRUMCLOG

‘The Battle of Loudoun Hill,’ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 188, 1803; II, 206, 1833.

The “gospel-lads,” otherwise self-styled the true Presbyterian party, had in 1679, May 29 (observed both as the king’s birthday and the anniversary of the Restoration), begun their testimony against the iniquity of the times by publishing a Declaration, putting out loyal bonfires, and burning all acts of Parliament obnoxious to Covenanters, in retaliation for the burning of the Covenant at London seventeen years before. They had intended to do this at Glasgow, but as Claverhouse had established himself there, the demonstration was made at Rutherglen, a little place two miles off. On the 31st Claverhouse laid hands on three of the rioters and an outlawed minister. The Covenanters had appointed a great meeting, an armed conventicle, for the next day, Sunday, June 1, at Loudon Hill, on the borders of the shires of Ayr and Lanark. Not so many came as were expected, for Claverhouse had been heard of, but there were at least two hundred and fifty armed men; and these numbers were subsequently increased.[[78]] It was resolved to rescue the prisoners taken the day before, if the Lord should enable them, and in prosecution of this object they moved on to Drumclog, a swampy farm two miles east of Loudon Hill. The chief of command was Robert Hamilton, and with him were associated John Balfour of Kinloch, called Burly, Hackston of Rathillet, and others. What ensued is told in a frank letter of Claverhouse, written the night of the same Sunday.

The prisoners were to be conveyed to Glasgow. “I thought,” says Claverhouse, “that we might make a little tour, to see if we could fall upon a conventicle; which we did, little to our advantage. For, when we came in sight of them, we found them drawn up in battle, upon a most advantageous ground, to which there was no coming but through mosses and lakes. They were not preaching, and had got away all their women and children. They consisted of four battalions of foot, and all well armed with fusils and pitchforks, and three squadrons of horse. We sent, both, parties to skirmish, they of foot and we of dragoons; they run for it, and sent down a battalion of foot against them (the dragoons). We sent threescore of dragoons, who made them run again shamefully. But in the end (they perceiving that we had the better of them in skirmish), they resolved a general engagement, and immediately advanced with their foot, the horse following. They came through the loch, and the greatest body of all made up against my troop. We kept our fire till they were within ten pace of us. They received our fire and advanced to shock. The first they gave us brought down the cornet, Mr Crafford, and Captain Bleith. Besides that, with a pitchfork, they made such an opening in my sorrel horse’s belly that his guts hung out half an ell, and yet he carried me off a mile; which so discouraged our men that they sustained not the shock, but fell into disorder. Their horse took the occasion of this, and pursued us so hotly that we got no time to rally. I saved the standards, but lost on the place about eight or ten men, besides wounded. But the dragoons lost many more. They are not come easily off on the other side, for I saw several of them fall before we came to the shock. I made the best retreat the confusion of our people would suffer.”[[79]]

The cornet killed was Robert Graham, the “nephew” of Claverhouse, of whom so much is made in “Old Mortality.” There is no evidence beyond the name to show that he was a near kinsman of his captain. The Covenanters thought they had killed Claverhouse himself, because of the name Graham being wrought into the cornet’s shirt, and treated the body with much brutality. In ‘Bothwell Bridge,’ st. 12, Claverhouse is represented as refusing quarter to the Covenanters in revenge for ‘his cornet’s death.’[[80]]

1

You’l marvel when I tell ye o

Our noble Burly and his train,

When last he marchd up through the land,

Wi sax-and-twenty westland men.

2

Than they I neer o braver heard,

For they had a’ baith wit and skill;

They proved right well, as I heard tell,

As they cam up oer Loudoun Hill.

3

Weel prosper a’ the gospel-lads

That are into the west countrie

Ay wicked Claverse to demean,

And ay an ill dead may he die!

4

For he’s drawn up i battle rank,

An that baith soon an hastilie;

But they wha live till simmer come.

Some bludie days for this will see.

5

But up spak cruel Claverse then,

Wi hastie wit an wicked skill,

‘Gae fire on you westlau men;

I think it is my sovreign’s will.’

6

But up bespake his cornet then,

‘It’s be wi nae consent o me;

I ken I’ll neer come back again,

An mony mae as weel as me.

7

‘There is not ane of a’ yon men

But wha is worthy other three;

There is na ane amang them a’

That in his cause will stap to die.

8

‘An as for Burly, him I knaw;

He’s a man of honour, birth, an fame;

Gie him a sword into his hand,

He’ll fight thysel an other ten.’

9

But up spake wicked Claverse then—

I wat his heart it raise fu hie—

And he has cry’d, that a’ might hear,

‘Man, ye hae sair deceived me.

10

‘I never kend the like afore,

Na, never since I came frae hame,

That you sae cowardly here suld prove,

An yet come of a noble Græme.’

11

But up bespake his cornet then,

‘Since that it is your honour’s will,

Mysel shall be the foremost man

That shall gie fire on Loudoun Hill.

12

‘At your command I’ll lead them on,

But yet wi nae consent o me;

For weel I ken I’ll neer return,

And mony mae as weel as me.’

13

Then up he drew in battle rank—

I wat he had a bonny train—

But the first time that bullets flew

Ay he lost twenty o his men.

14

Then back he came the way he gaed,

I wat right soon an suddenly;

He gave command amang his men,

And sent them back, and bade them flee.

15

Then up came Burly, bauld an stout,

Wi ‘s little train o westland men,

Wha mair than either aince or twice

In Edinburgh confind had been.

16

They hae been up to London sent,

An yet they’re a’ come safely down;

Sax troop o horsemen they hae beat,

And chased them into Glasgow town.

206
BOTHWELL BRIDGE

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 209, 1803; II, 226, 1833. From recitation.

The report of the success of the Covenanters at Drumclog brought four or five thousand malcontents into the rising, many of whom, however, were not radicals of the Hamilton type, but moderate Presbyterians. After not a little moving up and down, they established their camp on the nineteenth of June at Hamilton, on the south side of the Clyde, near the point where the river is crossed by Bothwell Bridge. They were deficient in arms and ammunition and in officers of military experience. “But,” as a historian of their own party says, “the greatest loss was their want of order and harmony among themselves; neither had they any person in whom they heartily centred, nor could they agree upon the grounds of their appearance.” Both before and after their final encampment at Hamilton, they were principally occupied with debating what testimony they should make against Popery, Prelacy, Erastianism, and the Indulgence, and whether their declaration should contain an acknowledgment of the king’s authority. Dissension ran high, “and enemies had it to observe and remark that ministers preached and prayed against one another.”

The king named the Duke of Monmouth to command his army in Scotland. Both the instructions which were given him and the duke’s own temper were favorable to an accommodation. The royal forces were at Bothwell Muir on the twenty-second of June, and their advanced guards within a quarter of a mile of the bridge. The duke marched his army to an eminence opposite the main body of the enemy, who lay on the moor (st. 10). The bridge was held by Hackston of Rathillet and other resolute men. It was very defensible, being only twelve feet wide and rising from each end to the middle, where there was a gate, and it was also obstructed with stones. Early in the morning a deputation was sent by the rebels to the duke to lay before him their demands. He heard them patiently, and expressed his willingness to do all that he could for them with the king, but would engage himself to nothing until they laid down their arms. He gave them an hour to make up their mind. The officers of the insurgents were unable to come to an agreement. Hamilton, who assumed the general command, was against any pacific arrangement, and no answer was returned. In the interim four field-pieces had been planted against the bridge. The defenders maintained themselves under the fire of these and of the musketeers and dragoons until their own powder was exhausted, and then unwillingly withdrew to the main body, by Hamilton’s order. The bridge was cleared of obstructions, and the royal army crossed and advanced in order of battle against the rebels on the moor. The first fire made the Covenanters’ horse wheel about, and their retreat threw the nearest foot into disorder; in consequence of which the whole army fell into confusion. Twelve hundred surrendered without resistance, the rest fled, and several hundred were killed in the pursuit.[[81]]

1–9. William Gordon of Earlston, a hot Covenanter, while on his way to Hamilton on the twenty-second to join the insurgents, fell in with some dragoons who were pursuing his already routed copartisans, and, resisting their attempt to make him prisoner, was killed. His son Alexander, a man of more temperate views, was at Bothwell Bridge,[[82]] and escaped. Although Earlston in st. 4 is represented as bidding farewell to his father, the grotesque narrative with which the ballad begins can be understood only of the father; sts. 7, 8 make this certain.

9. It seems to be meant, as grammar would require, that it is the ‘Lennox lad,’ and a Covenanter, that sets up ‘the flag of red set about with blue.’ In “Old Mortality,” Sir Walter Scott makes the Covenanters plant “the scarlet and blue colors of the Scottish covenant” on the keep of Tillietudlem. Whether he had other authority than this ballad for the scarlet, I have not been able to ascertain. All the flags of the covenant may not have been alike, but all would probably have a ground of blue, which is known to have been the Covenanters’ color. One flag, which belonged to a Covenanter who figured at Drumclog and Bothwell Bridge, has fortunately been preserved. It is of blue silk, with three inscriptions, one of which is, “No Quarters to ye Active Enimies of ye Covenant,” first painted in some light color, afterwards repainted in a dull red. (Napier, I, xliv).

The last half of the stanza must be spoken by Monmouth, and the tone of it is more chivalrous than the circumstances call for.

12–15. For Claverhouse’s cornet, see the preceding ballad. Captain John Graham, for that was all he then was, was not conspicuous at Bothwell Bridge. He commanded the horse on the right, and Captain Stuart the dragoons on the left, when the advance was made on the Covenanters. He was as capable of insubordination as Robert Hamilton was of Erastianism, and it is nearly as unnecessary, at this day, to vindicate him from the charge of cruelty as from that of procuring Monmouth’s execution six years in advance of the fates.[[83]]

‘Earlistoun,’ Chambers, Twelve Romantic Scottish Ballads, p. 26, is this piece with the battle omitted, or stanzas 1–6, 71,2, 83,4, 16.

Scott observes: “There is said to be another song upon this battle, once very popular, but I have not been able to recover it.”

There is a stall-ballad of Bothwell Brigg, not traditional, a very good ballad of its sort, with a touching story and a kindly moral, which may or may not be later than Sir Walter Scott’s day. It is of John Carr and his wife Janet and a non-covenanting lady, who carries off John, badly wounded, from the field (where he had fought better than most of his party), and nurses him in her lord’s castle till he is well enough to be visited by his wife.

Translated by Talvj, Charakteristik, p. 581.

1

‘O billie, billie, bonny billie,

Will ye go to the wood wi me?

We’ll ca our horse hame masterless,

An gar them trow slain men are we.’

2

‘O no, O no!’ says Earlstoun,

‘For that’s the thing that mauna be;

For I am sworn to Bothwell Hill,

Where I maun either gae or die.’

3

So Earlstoun rose in the morning,

An mounted by the break o day,

An he has joind our Scottish lads,

As they were marching out the way.

4

‘Now, farewell, father! and farewell, mother!

An fare ye weel, my sisters three!

An fare ye well, my Earlstoun!

For thee again I—‘ll never see.’

5

So they’re awa to Bothwell Hill,

An waly, they rode bonnily!

When the Duke o Monmouth saw them comin,

He went to view their company.

6

‘Ye’re welcome, lads,’ then Monmouth said,

‘Ye’re welcome, brave Scots lads, to me;

And sae are you, brave Earlstoun,

The foremost o your company.

7

‘But yield your weapons ane an a’,

O yield your weapons, lads, to me;

For, gin ye’ll yield your weapons up,

Ye’se a’ gae hame to your country.’

8

Out then spak a Lennox lad,

And waly, but he spoke bonnily!

‘I winna yield my weapons up,

To you nor nae man that I see.’

9

Then he set up the flag o red,

A’ set about wi bonny blue:

‘Since ye’ll no cease, and be at peace,

See that ye stand by ither true.’

10

They stelld their cannons on the height,

And showrd their shot down in the how,

An beat our Scots lads even down;

Thick they lay slain on every know.

11

As eer you saw the rain down fa,

Or yet the arrow frae the bow,

Sae our Scottish lads fell even down,

An they lay slain on every know.

12

‘O hold your hand,’ then Monmouth cry’d,

‘Gie quarters to yon men for me;’

But wicked Claverhouse swore an oath

His cornet’s death revengd sud be.

13

‘O hold your hand,’ then Monmouth cry’d,

‘If ony thing you’ll do for me;

Hold up your hand, you cursed Græme,

Else a rebel to our king ye’ll be.’

14

Then wicked Claverhouse turnd about—

I wot an angry man was he—

And he has lifted up his hat,

And cry’d, God bless his Majesty!

15

Than he’s awa to London town,

Ay een as fast as he can dree;

Fause witnesses he has wi him taen,

An taen Monmouth’s head frae his body.

16

Alang the brae beyond the brig,

Mony brave man lies cauld and still;

But lang we’ll mind, and sair we’ll rue,

The bloody battle of Bothwell Hill.

207
LORD DELAMERE

A. ‘The Long-armed Duke,’ first printed, about 1843, in a periodical called the Story Teller; afterwards in Notes and Queries, First Series, V, 243, 1852.

B. ‘Devonshire’s Noble Duel with Lord Danby, in the year 1687,’ Llewellynn Jewitt’s Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, p. 55, 1867.

C. Llewellynn Jewitt’s Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, p. 57, two stanzas.

D. ‘Lord Delaware,’ Thomas Lyle’s Ancient Ballads and Songs, chiefly from tradition, manuscripts, and scarce works, etc., London, 1827, p. 125. ‘Lord Delamare,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 539. Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 80, Percy Society, vol. xvii, 1846; the same, ed. Robert Bell, 1857, p. 66.

Of D the editor says: “An imperfect copy ... was noted down by us from the singing of a gentleman in this city [Glasgow], which has necessarily been remodelled and smoothed down to the present measure, without any other liberties, however, having been taken with the original narrative, which is here carefully preserved as it was committed to us.” The air, says Lyle, was “beautiful, and peculiar to the ballad.”

E. Leigh, Ballads and Legends of Cheshire, p. 203, repeats A.

Mr E. Peacock had an imperfect manuscript copy with the title ‘Lord Delamere,’ beginning

I wonder very much that our sovereign king

So many large taxes upon this land should bring.

Notes and Queries, First Series, II, 104, 1851.

Dr Rimbault remembered hearing a version sung at a village in Staffordshire, about 1842, in which Hereford was substituted for Devonshire: Notes and Queries, First Series, V, 348, 1852.

Lord Delamere, upon occasion of the imposition of some new taxes, begs a boon of the king, in the Parliament House; it is that he may have all the poor men in the land down to Cheshire and hang them, since it would be better for them to be hanged than to be starved. A French (Dutch) lord says that Delamere ought to be stabbed for publicly affronting the king. The Duke of Devonshire offers himself to fight for Delamere, and a stage is set up for a duel to the utterance. Devonshire’s sword bends at the first thrust and then breaks. An English lord who is standing by (Willoughby, B) gives him another, and advises him to play low, for there is treachery. Devonshire drops on his knee and gives his antagonist his death-wound. The king orders the dead man to be taken away, but Devonshire insists on first examining the body. He finds that the French lord had been wearing armor, and the king’s armor, while he himself was fighting bare. He reproaches the king with the purpose of taking his life, and tells him that he shall not have his armor back until he wins it.

According to the title of B, the duel was between Devonshire and Lord Danby, and in 1687. The other party is, however, called a Dutch lord in the ballad. The king is James. Delamere is said to be under age (he was thirty-five in 1687).

In D, Delamere is changed to Delaware, of Lincolnshire; the Duke of Devonshire is called a Welsh lord, and fights a Dutch lord in defence of young Delaware. When Devonshire’s sword breaks, he springs from the stage, borrows another from a soldier in the ring, and leaps back to the stage.

It is scarcely necessary to say that the duel is on a par for historical verity with that in ‘Johnie Scot’ (No 99). If there was to be a duel, Devonshire (Earl, he was not created Duke till 1694, the last year of Delamere’s life) was well chosen for the nonce. He had fought with Lord Mohun, in 1676, and was credited with challenging Count Königsmark, in 1682. What is true in the ballad is that Delamere was a strenuous and uncompromising advocate of constitutional government, and that he and Devonshire were political and personal friends. Both were particularly active in bringing in the Prince of Orange; and so was Lord Danby, with whom, according to the title of B, Devonshire was fighting the duel the year before the revolution.

It has been suggested,[[84]] and it is barely conceivable, that the ballad may have grown out of a perverted report of the affair of the Earl of Devonshire with Colonel Colepepper.

“On Sunday the 24th of April, 1687, the said earl, meeting on Colonel Culpepper in the drawing-room in Whitehall (who had formerly affronted the said earl in the king’s palace, for which he had not received any satisfaction), he spake to the said colonel to go with him into the next room, who went with him accordingly; and when they were there, the said earl required of him to go down stairs, that he might have satisfaction for the affront done him, as aforesaid; which the colonel refusing to do, the said earl struck him with his stick, as is supposed.”[[85]] For this, Devonshire was summoned to the King’s Bench and required to give sureties to the amount of £30,000 that he would appear to stand trial. Delamere was surety for £5,000. Devonshire was in the end fined £30,000, and Delamere made a strong plea, apparently in the House of Lords, against the legality of the proceedings of the court.

There is the slightest possible similitude here to the facts of the ballad. It is merely that one party stands up for the other; but Delamere appears as the champion of Devonshire, not Devonshire of Delamere. If Devonshire had testified for Delamere when the latter was tried for high treason in 1686, there would be something to go upon. A more plausible explanation is desirable.