[B]. 'Prince Heathen,' Buchan's MSS, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 665.
The fragment A (pointed out to me by Svend Grundtvig) is partly explained by B, which is no doubt some stall-copy, reshaped from tradition. Motherwell's copy was derived from Buchan.
The story, which reads like an old one extremely corrupted, is none too intelligible even in the longer form. Lady Margery is sitting in her bower-door. Prince Heathen comes by and gives her a ring. She refuses him her love. He swears that he will make her greet; she swears that he shall not. He takes her maidenhead: still she will not greet. He tells her that he has killed her father, mother, and seven brothers: still she will not greet. He puts her in a vault of stone, fastened with five and thirty locks: she will not greet [go, A], but rues. He comes back from the mountains, and asks her how she is faring. Dying, she says. He takes her out upon the green, allowing her no female service, and she brings forth a son. How is it with her now? Dying. She asks for a drink of water: he will not give her a drop until she wraps up her young son. She has nothing to wrap the babe in; he gives her his horse-sheet; her tears fall fast. "Bonny may, now you greet!" he exclaims ["will you go now?" A]. But she greets not for him; it is for her young son, wrapped so roughly. Prince Heathen, satisfied, as far as we can see, now that he has subdued her proud will, orders his son to be rolled in silk and washed in milk, according to the usage of Scottish nursery: see No 5, B 61, C 82, 83, E 32, F 57, G 33; No 20, C 8; No 63, B 35, C 35, F 22, J 47; No 101, A 25. Having broken her spirit, he loves her well.
A
The Jovial Rake's Garland, n. d., p. 6, No 4, Bodleian Library, Douce PP, 164.
1 Lady Margery May sits in her bower,
Sewing at her seem;
By there comes a heathen knight,
From her her maidenhead has tane.
2 He has put her in a tower strong,
With double locks on fifty doors:
'Lady Margery May, will you ga now?'
'O ye heathen knight, not yet for you.
3 'I am asking, you heathen knight;
What I am asking will you grant to me?
Will ye let one of your waitmen
A drink of your well bring to me?'
4 'Meat nor drink you shall never get,
Nor out of that shall you never come,
Meat nor drink shall you never get,
Until you bear to me daughter or son.'
5 Thus time drew on, and further on,
For travail came this young lady to;
She travailed up, so did she down,
But lighter could she never be.