Transcriber's Notes
Linenotes have been grouped at the end of each ballad or ballad section. Linenote anchors have been added to the text which provide a link to the appropriate note.
Irregular and inconsistent spellings have been retained as in the original. Typographical errors such as wrongly placed line numbers, punctuation or inconsistent formatting have been corrected without comment. Where changes have been made to the wording these are listed at the end of the book.
ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH
BALLADS.
EDITED BY
FRANCIS JAMES CHILD.
VOLUME IV.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY.
M.DCCC.LX.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857 by Little, Brown and Company, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
BOOK IV.
CONTINUED.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME FOURTH.
BOOK IV. (continued.)
APPENDIX.
YOUNG BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE.
An inspection of the first hundred lines of Robert of Gloucester's Life and Martyrdom of Thomas Beket, (edited for the Percy Society by W. H. Black, vol. xix,) will leave no doubt that the hero of this ancient and beautiful tale is veritably Gilbert Becket, father of the renowned Saint Thomas of Canterbury. Robert of Gloucester's story coincides in all essential particulars with the traditionary legend, but Susie Pye is, unfortunately, spoken of in the chronicle by no other name than the daughter of the Saracen Prince Admiraud.
We have thought it well to present the three best versions of so popular and interesting a ballad. The two which are given in the body of this work are Jamieson's, from Popular Ballads, ii. 117, and ii. 127. In the Appendix is Kinloch's, from Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 260. Other printed copies are Lord Beichan, in Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, vii. 20, communicated by J. H. Dixon, who has inserted the same in Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs, Percy Society, vol. xvii. p. 85; Lord Bateman, the common English broadside (at p. 95 of the collection just cited); and Young Bondwell, published from Buchan's MS. in Scottish Traditionary Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 1, (Percy Soc. vol. xvii.) identical, we suppose, with the copy referred to by Motherwell in Scarce Ancient Ballads, Peterhead, 1819. There is a well-known burlesque of the ordinary English ballad, called The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman, with comical illustrations by Cruikshank. On this was founded a burlesque drama, produced some years ago at the Strand Theatre, London, with great applause.
"This ballad, and that which succeeds it in this collection, (both on the same subject,) are given from copies taken from Mrs. Brown's recitation, collated with two other copies procured from Scotland, one in MS., another very good one printed for the stalls; a third, in the possession of the late Reverend Jonathan Boucher of Epsom, taken from recitation in the North of England; and a fourth, about one third as long as the others, which the Editor picked off an old wall in Piccadilly."
Jamieson's interpolations have been omitted.
He longed strange countries for to see;
But he was taen by a savage moor,
Who handled him right cruellie;
Their way of worship viewed he;
But to Mahound, or Termagant,
Would Beichan never bend a knee.
In every bore they've putten a tree;10
And they have made him trail the wine
And spices on his fair bodie.
Where he could neither hear nor see;
For seven years they kept him there,15
Till he for hunger's like to die.
Her name was called Susie Pye;
And every day as she took the air,
Near Beichan's prison she passed by.20
She heard young Beichan sadly sing;
"My hounds they all go masterless;
My hawks they flee from tree to tree;
My younger brother will heir my land;25
Fair England again I'll never see!"
Young Beichan's song for thinking on;
She's stown the keys from her father's head,
And to the prison strong is gone.30
I wot she open'd two or three,
Ere she could come young Beichan at,
He was locked up so curiouslie.
Sore wonder'd he that may to see;
He took her for some fair captive;—
"Fair Lady, I pray, of what countrie?"
"Or castles in your own countrie,40
That ye could give to a lady fair,
From prison strong to set you free?"
With other castles two or three;
I'll give them all to the lady fair45
That out of prison will set me free."
The truth of it give unto me,
That for seven years ye'll no lady wed,
Unless it be along with me."50
The truth of it I'll freely gie,
That for seven years I'll stay unwed,
For the kindness thou dost show to me."
Wi' mickle gold and white monie;
She's gotten the keys of the prison strong,
And she has set young Beichan free.
She's gi'en him to drink the blood-red wine;
She's bidden him sometimes think on her,60
That sae kindly freed him out of pine.
And to Beichan half of it gave she:
"Keep it, to mind you of that love65
The lady bore that set you free.
And haste ye back to your own countrie;
And before that seven years have an end,
Come back again, love, and marry me."70
She long'd full sore her love to see;
For ever a voice within her breast
Said, "Beichan has broke his vow to thee."
So she's set her foot on good ship-board,75
And turn'd her back on her own countrie.
Till to fair England's shore she came;
Where a bonny shepherd she espied,
Feeding his sheep upon the plain.80
What news hast thou to tell to me?"
"Such news I hear, ladie," he says,
"The like was never in this countrie.
Has lasted these thirty days and three;
Young Beichan will not bed with his bride,
For love of one that's yond the sea."
Gi'en him the gold and white monie;90
"Hae, take ye that, my bonny boy,
For the good news thou tell'st to me."
She tirled softly at the pin;
So ready was the proud porter95
To open and let this lady in.
"Or is that noble lord within?"
"Yea, he's in the hall among them all,
And this is the day o' his weddin."100
And has he clean forgotten me?"
And, sighin', said that gay ladie,
"I wish I were in my own conntrie."
That with her love she brake so free;
Says, "Gie him that, ye proud porter,
And bid the bridegroom speak to me."
He kneeled down low on his knee——110
"What aileth thee, my proud porter,
Thou art so full of courtesie?"
It's thirty long years now and three;
But there stands a lady at them now,115
The like o' her did I never see;
And on her mid finger she has three;
And as meickle gold aboon her brow
As would buy an earldom to me."120
Aye and an angry woman was shee;
"Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,
And twa or three of our companie."
Of all your folly let me be;
She's ten times fairer nor the bride,
And all that's in your companie.
But and a cup of your red wine;130
And to remember the lady's love,
That last reliev'd you out of pine."
"That I so soon have married thee!
For it can be none but Susie Pye,145
That sailed the sea for love of me."
Of fifteen steps he made but three;
He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms,
And kist, and kist her tenderlie.150
And hae ye quite forgotten me?
And hae ye quite forgotten her,
That gave you life and libertie?"
To hide the tears stood in her e'e:
"Now fare thee well, young Beichan," she says,
"I'll try to think no more on thee."
Nor ever shall I wed but her
That's done and dree'd so much for me."
"My lord, your love it changeth soon;
This morning I was made your bride,155
And another chose ere it be noon."
Ye're ne'er a whit the worse for me;
And whan ye return to your own countrie,
A double dower I'll send with thee."160
And gently led her up and down;
And ay as he kist her red rosy lips,
"Ye're welcome, jewel, to your own."
And led her to yon fountain stane;
He's changed her name from Susie Pye,
And he's call'd her his bonny love, Lady Jane.
109-112.
He kneeled lowly on his knee:
"What news, what news, thou Tommy Pots,
Thou art so full of courtesie?"
The Lovers' Quarrel, v. 133-136.
YOUNG BEKIE.
As ever sail'd the sea;
And he's doen him to the court o' France,
To serve for meat and fee.
A twelvemonth nor sae lang,
Till he fell in love wi' the king's daughter,
And was thrown in prison strang.
Burd Isbel was her name;10
And she has to the prison gane,
To hear the prisoner's mane.
At her stirrup I wad rin;
Or gin a widow wad borrow me,15
I wad swear to be her son.
I wad wed her wi' a ring;
I'd gi'e her ha's, I'd gi'e her bowers,
The bonny towers o' Linne."20
And barefoot cam she ben;
It wasna for want o' hose and shoon,
Nor time to put them on;
Had heard her makin' din;
For she's stown the keys of the prison,
And gane the dungeon within.
Wow, but her heart was sair!30
For the mice, but and the bald rattons,
Had eaten his yellow hair.
A comber till his hair;
Five hundred pound in his pocket,35
To spend, and nae to spare.
And a saddle o' royal bane;
A leash o' hounds o' ae litter,
And Hector called ane.40
'Twas made full solemnlie,
That or three years were come and gane,
Weel married they should be.
A twelvemonth till an end,
Till he's forced to marry a duke's daughter,
Or than lose a' his land.
"I kenna what to dee;50
For I canna win to Burd Isbel,
And she canna come to me."
Burd Isbel fell asleep,
And up it starts the Billy Blin,55
And stood at her bed feet.
How can ye sleep so soun';
When this is Bekie's wedding day,
And the marriage gaing on?60
As fast as ye can gang;
And ye tak three o' your mother's marys,
To haud ye unthocht lang.
And your marys in dainty green;
And ye put girdles about your middle
Wad buy an earldome.
And down by yon sea-strand;70
And bonny will the Hollans boats
Come rowin' till your hand.
Cry, 'Hail ye, Domine!'
To row you o'er the sea."
As fast as she could gang;
And she's ta'en twa o' her mither's marys,
To haud her unthocht lang.80
Her marys i' the dainty green;
And they've put girdles about their middle
Would buy an earldome.
And down by yon sea-strand;
And sae bonny as the Hollans boats
Come rowin' till their hand.
Cried, "Hail ye, Domine!"90
And the Billy Blin was the steerer o't,
To row her o'er the sea.
She heard the music play;
And her mind misgae by a' she heard,95
That 'twas his wedding day.
Gi'en the porter markis three;
"Hae, take ye that, ye proud porter,
Bid your master speake to me."100
He fell low down on his knee:
He hail'd the king, and he hail'd the queen,
And he hail'd him, young Bekie.
This thirty years and three;
But there are three ladies at them now,
Their like I did never see.
And twa in dainty green;110
And they hae girdles about their middles
Would buy an earldome."
"Was a' goud to the chin;
"Gin she be fine without," she says,115
"We's be as fine within."
And the tear was in his e'e:
"I'll lay my life it's Burd Isbel,
Come o'er the sea to me."120
And whan he saw 'twas she,
He kindly took her in his arms,
And kist her tenderlie.
The vow ye made to me,
When I took you out of prison strang,
When ye was condemned to die?
And a saddle o' royal bane;130
A leash o' hounds o' ae litter;
And Hector called ane."
That it was nae a lie;
For at the first word the lady spak,135
The hound fell at her knee.
A blessing gang her wi';
For I maun marry my Burd Isbel,
That's come o'er the sea to me."140
Or the fashion o' your land,
To marry a maid in a May morning,
Send her back a maid at e'en?"
3. Court o' France. "And first, here to omit the programe of him and his mother, named Rose, whom Polyd. Virgilius falsely nameth to be a Saracen, when indeed she came out of the parts bordering neere to Normandy." Fox, Acts and Monuments, cited by Motherwell, p. xvi.
HYND HORN.
Those metrical romances, which in the chivalrous ages, constituted the most refined pastime of a rude nobility, are known in many cases to have been adapted for the entertainment of humbler hearers, by abridgment in the form of ballads. Such was the case with the ancient gest of King Horn. Preserved in several MSS., both French and English, in something of its original proportions, an epitome of it has also descended to us through the mouths of the people.
An imperfect copy of the following piece was inserted by Cromek in his Select Scottish Songs, (London, 1810, vol. ii. p. 204-210.) Better editions have since been furnished by Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 138; Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. 95; and Buchan, Ballads of the North of Scotland, ii. 268. Of these, we reprint the last two.
All the poems relating to Horn, in French and English, including the Scottish ballads above mentioned, are collected by Michel in a beautiful volume of the Bannatyne Club, Horn et Rimenhild, Paris, 1845.
From Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 35.