O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue,
And I wish the blue may do weel;
And every auld wife that’s sae jealous o’ her dochter,
May she get a good keach i’ the creel, creel;
May she get a good keach i’ the creel!
THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER.
[This old West-country ballad was one of the broadsides printed at the Aldermary press. We have not met with any older impression, though we have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border is a ballad called the Broomfield Hill; it is a mere fragment, but is evidently taken from the present ballad, and can be considered only as one of the many modern antiques to be found in that work.]
A noble young squire that lived in the West,
He courted a young lady gay;
And as he was merry he put forth a jest,
A wager with her he would lay.
‘A wager with me,’ the young lady replied,
‘I pray about what must it be?
If I like the humour you shan’t be denied,
I love to be merry and free.’
Quoth he, ‘I will lay you a hundred pounds,
A hundred pounds, aye, and ten,
That a maid if you go to the merry Broomfield,
That a maid you return not again.’
‘I’ll lay you that wager,’ the lady she said,
Then the money she flung down amain;
‘To the merry Broomfield I’ll go a pure maid,
The same I’ll return home again.’
He covered her bet in the midst of the hall,
With a hundred and ten jolly pounds;
And then to his servant he straightway did call,
For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds.
A ready obedience the servant did yield,
And all was made ready o’er night;
Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield,
To meet with his love and delight.
Now when he came there, having waited a while,
Among the green broom down he lies;
The lady came to him, and could not but smile,
For sleep then had closèd his eyes.