Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 155.
1
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,
And milk-white was his weed;
It sets him weel to bridle a horse,
And better to saddle a steed, my dear,
And better to saddle a steed.
2
But he is on to Maisry's bower-door,
And tirled at the pin:
'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry,
Ye'll open, let me come in.'
3
'O who is this at my bower-door,
Sae well that knows my name?'
'It is your ain true-love, Willie,
If ye love me, lat me in.'
4
Then huly, huly raise she up,
For fear o making din,
Then in her arms lang and bent,
She caught sweet Willie in.
5
She leand her low down to her toe,
To loose her true-love's sheen,
But cauld, cauld were the draps o bleed
Fell fae his trusty brand.
6
'What frightfu sight is that, my love?
A frightfu sight to see!
What bluid is this on your sharp brand?
O may ye not tell me?'
7
'As I came thro the woods this night,
The wolf maist worried me;
O shoud I slain the wolf, Maisry?
Or shoud the wolf slain me?'
8
They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,
As lovers when they meet,
Till up it starts her auld father,
Out o his drowsy sleep.
9
'O what's become o my house-cock,
Sae crouse at ane did craw?
I wonder as much at my bold watch,
That's nae shooting ower the wa.
10
'My gude house-cock, my only son,
Heir ower my land sae free,
If ony ruffian hae him slain,
High hanged shall he be.'
11
Then he's on to Maisry's bower-door,
And tirled at the pin:
'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry,
Ye'll open, lat me come in.'
12
Between the curtains and the wa
She rowd her true-love then,
And huly went she to the door,
And let her father in.
13
'What's become o your maries, Maisry,
Your bower it looks sae teem?
What's become o your green claithing,
Your beds they are sae thin?'
14
'Gude forgie you, father,' she said,
'I wish ye be't for sin;
Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me,
But never found me wrang.'
15
He turnd him right and round about,
As he'd been gaun awa;
But sae nimbly as he slippet in
Behind a screen sae sma.
16
Maisry, thinking a' dangers past,
She to her love did say,
'Come, love, and take your silent rest;
My auld father's away.'
17
Then baith lockd in each other's arms,
They fell full fast asleep,
When up it starts her auld father,
And stood at their bed-feet.
18
'I think I hae the villain now
That my dear son did slay;
But I shall be revengd on him
Before I see the day.'
19
Then he's drawn out a trusty brand,
And stroakd it oer a stray,
And thro and thro Sweet Willie's middle
He's gart cauld iron gae.
20
Then up it wakend Lady Maisry,
Out o her drowsy sleep,
And when she saw her true-love slain,
She straight began to weep.
21
'O gude forgie you now, father,' she said,
'I wish ye be't for sin;
For I never lovd a love but ane,
In my arms ye've him slain.'
22
'This night he's slain my gude bold watch,
Thirty stout men and twa;
Likewise he's slain your ae brother,
To me was worth them a'.
23
'If he has slain my ae brither,
Himsell had a' the blame,
For mony a day he plots contriv'd,
To hae Sweet Willie slain.
24
'And tho he's slain your gude bold watch,
He might hae been forgien;
They came on him in armour bright,
When he was but alane.'
25
Nae meen was made for this young knight,
In bower where he lay slain,
But a' was for sweet Maisry bright,
In fields where she ran brain.
24, 34. Lady in MS., Laddy in Minstrelsy.
91. his foot in Minstrelsy: cf. B 51.
103. hast in both.
Several slight changes are made by Motherwell in
printing.
71
THE BENT SAE BROWN
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 30.
'The Bent sae Brown' combines the
story of 'Clerk Saunders' with that of another
ballad, not found in an independent form in
English, but sufficiently common in Danish
and Swedish; whence the non-tragical conclusion,
for the killing of a certain number of
brothers is not regarded as a very serious
matter by the heroine, whether in English or
Norse. The introduction and conclusion, and
some incidental decorations, of the Scottish
ballad will not be found in the Norse, but are
an outcome of the invention and the piecing
and shaping of that humble but enterprising
rhapsodist who has left his trail over so large
a part of Buchan's volumes.[108]
Stanzas 21-34 contain the substance of the
Norse ballad referred to, which has been
printed in the following versions, and exists
in others not yet given to the world, Danish,
Norwegian, and Icelandic.
Swedish. A. 'Unger Sven,' Arwidsson, I,
295, No 43. B. 'Ung Hillerström,' Afzelius,
II, 180, No 55.
Danish. A. An unpublished version, found
in two manuscripts of the 17th century, communicated
to me by Grundtvig. B. 'Jomfruen
i Skoven,' "Tragica, No 15," Danske Viser,
III, 99, No 123.[109] C. 'Kjærligheds Styrke,'
Kristensen, I, 109, No 43. D, E, F. 'Jomfruens
Brødre,' Kristensen, II, 276, No 80 A,
B, C. G. Madsen, Folkeminder fra Hanved
Sogn, p. 88, No 5.
A youth has passed the night with his love,
either in her bower or in a wood. When they
are about to part in the morning, she begs him
to be on his guard against her seven brothers,
on his way through the wood and over the
heath. He makes light of the danger, and in
the wood meets the seven brothers. They
demand how he comes to be there, and he
feigns to have been out with his hawk and
hound, to have been coursing hares. No, they
say, you were with our sister last night, and
asked no read of us. He makes no denial;
but her will was as good as his. They ask
whether he will fly or fight. He has no
thought of flight, kills all seven, and goes
back to his love. She will not forsake him
for killing her brothers; nor would she, Danish
A, C, F, had he killed her father too.[110]
1
'There are sixteen lang miles, I'm sure,
Between my love and me;
There are eight o them in gude dry land,
And other eight by sea.
2
'Betide me life, betide me death,
My love I'll gang and see;
Altho her friends they do me hate,
Her love is great for me.
3
'Of my coat I'll make a boat,
And o my sark a sail,
And o my cane a gude tapmast,
Dry land till I come till.'
4
Then o his coat he's made a boat,
And o his sark a sail;
And o his cane a gude tapmast,
Dry land till he came till.
5
He is on to Annie's bower-door,
And tirled at the pin:
'O sleep ye, wake ye, my love, Annie,
Ye'll rise, lat me come in.'
6
'O who is this at my bower-door,
Sae well that kens my name?'
'It is your true-love, Sweet Willie,
For you I've crossd the faem.'
7
'I am deeply sworn, Willie,
By father and by mother;
At kirk or market where we meet,
We darna own each other.
8
'And I am deeply sworn, Willie,
By my bauld brothers three;
At kirk or market where we meet.
I darna speak to thee.'
9
'Ye take your red fan in your hand,
Your white fan ower your een,
And ye may swear, and save your oath,
Ye sawna me come in.
10
'Ye take me in your arms twa,
And carry me to your bed;
And ye may swear, and save your oath,
Your bower I never tread.'
11
She's taen her red fan in her hand,
The white fan ower her een;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
She sawna him come in.
12
She's taen him in her arms twa,
And carried him to her bed;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
Her bower he never tread.
13
They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,
As lovers do when they meet,
Till up it waukens her mother,
Out o her drowsy sleep.
14
'Win up, win up, my three bauld sons,
Win up and make ye boun;
Your sister's lover's in her bower,
And he 's but new come in.'
15
Then up it raise her three bauld sons,
And girt to them their brand,
And they are to their sister's bower,
As fast as they coud gang.
16
When they came to their sister's bower,
They sought it up and down;
But there was neither man nor boy
In her bower to be foun.
17
Then out it speaks the first o them:
'We'll gang and lat her be;
For there is neither man nor boy
Intill her companie.'
18
Then out it speaks the second son:
'Our travel's a' in vain;
But mother dear, nor father dear,
Shall break our rest again.'
19
Then out it speaks the third o them,
An ill death mat he die!
'We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown,
That Willie we may see.'
20
He stood behind his love's curtains,
His goud rings showd him light;
And by this ye may a' weell guess
He was a renowned knight.
21
He's done him to his love's stable,
Took out his berry-brown steed;
His love stood in her bower-door,
Her heart was like to bleed.
22
'O mourn ye for my coming, love?
Or for my short staying?
Or mourn ye for our safe sindring,
Case we never meet again?'
23
'I mourn nae for your here coming,
Nor for your staying lang;
Nor mourn I for our safe sindring,
I hope we'll meet again.
24
'I wish ye may won safe away,
And safely frae the town;
For ken you not my brothers three
Are mang the bent sae brown?'
25
'If I were on my berry-brown steed,
And three miles frae the town,
I woudna fear your three bauld brothers,
Amang the bent sae brown.'
26
He leint him ower his saddle-bow,
And kissd her lips sae sweet;
The tears that fell between these twa,
They wat his great steed's feet.
27
But he wasna on his berry-brown steed,
Nor twa miles frae the town,
Till up it starts these three fierce men,
Amang the bent sae brown.
28
Then up they came like three fierce men,
Wi mony shout and cry:
'Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth,
What makes your haste away?
29
'For I must know before you go,
Tell me, and make nae lie;
If ye 've been in my sister's bower,
My hands shall gar ye die.'
30
'Tho I've been in your sister's bower,
I have nae fear o thee;
I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight,
Aud shall gain victorie.'
31
'Now I entreat you for to stay,
Unto us gie a wad;
If ye our words do not obey,
I'se gar your body bleed.'
32
'I have nae wad, says Sweet Willie,
Unless it be my brand,
And that shall guard my fair body,
Till I win frae your hand.'
33
Then two o them stept in behind,
All in a furious meed;
The third o them came him before,
And seizd his berry-brown steed.
34
O then he drew his trusty brand,
That hang down by his gare,
And he has slain these three fierce men,
And left them sprawling there.
35
Then word has gane to her mother,
In bed where she slept soun,
That Willie had killd her three bauld sons,
Amang the bent sae brown.
36
Then she has cut the locks that hung
Sae low down by her ee,
Sae has she kiltit her green claithing
A little aboon her knee.
37
And she has on to the king's court,
As fast as gang coud she;
When Fair Annie got word o that,
Was there as soon as she.
38
Her mother, when before the king,
Fell low down on her knee;
'Win up, win up, my dame,' he said,
'What is your will wi me?'
39
'My wills they are not sma, my liege,
The truth I'll tell to thee;
There is ane o your courtly knights
Last night hae robbed me.'
40
'And has he broke your bigly bowers?
Or has he stole your fee?
There is nae knight into my court
Last night has been frae me;
41
'Unless 't was Willie o Lauderdale,
Forbid that it be he!'
'And by my sooth,' says the auld woman,
'That very man is he.
42
'For he has broke my bigly bowers,
And he has stole my fee,
And made my daughter Ann a whore,
And an ill woman is she.
43
'That was not all he did to me,
Ere he went frae the town;
My sons sae true he fiercely slew,
Amang the bent sae brown.'
44
Then out it spake her daughter Ann,
She stood by the king's knee:
'Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear,
Sae loud 's I hear you lie.
45
'He has not broke your bigly bowers,
Nor has he stole your fee,
Nor made your daughter Ann a whore;
A good woman I'll be.
46
'Altho he slew your three bauld sons,
He weel might be forgien;
They were well clad in armour bright,
Whan my love was him lane.'
47
'Well spoke, well spoke,' the king replied,
'This tauking pleases me;
For ae kiss o your lovely mouth,
I'll set your true-love free.'
48
She 's taen the king in her arms,
And kissd him cheek and chin;
He then set her behind her love,
And they went singing hame.
72
THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O OWSENFORD
A. 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' Kinloch
MSS, V, 403.
B. 'The Clerks o Owsenfoord,' Dr Joseph Robertson's
Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 67.
C. 'The Clerks of Oxenford,' Buchan's Ballads of the
North of Scotland, I, 281.
D. 'The Clerks Two Sons of Oxenfoord,' Motherwell's
MS., p. 433.
A, as sung, had a sequel of six stanzas,
which is found separately and seems to belong
with another ballad, 'The Wife of Usher's
Well.' Robert Chambers combined A with
Buchan's version, C, and the six concluding
stanzas with 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' and
divided his ballad into two parts, "on account
of the great superiority of what follows over
what goes before, and because the latter portion
is in a great measure independent of the
other:" The Scottish Ballads, pp 345-50.
His second reason for a division is better than
his first. It is quite according to precedent
for a ballad to end with a vow like that in A
17, D 14: see 'Clerk Saunders.'
D has some amusing dashes of prose, evidently
of masculine origin: "They thought
their father's service mean, their mother's no
great affair," 2; "When he was certain of the
fact, an angry man was he," 6; "That I may
ride to fair Berwick, and see what can be
done," 8. We have here a strong contrast
with both the blind-beggar and the housemaid
style of corruption; something suggesting the
attorney's clerk rather than the clerk of Owsenford,
but at least not mawkish.
There are ballads both in Northern and in
Southern Europe which have a certain amount
of likeness with 'The Clerk's Twa Sons,' but
if the story of all derives from one original,
time has introduced great and even unusual
variations.
In the Scottish ballad two youths go to
Paris to study, and have an amour with the
mayor's daughters, for which they are thrown
into prison and condemned to be hanged.
The Clerk, their father, comes to the prison,
asks them what is their offence, and learns
that it is a little dear bought love. He offers
the mayor a ransom for their lives, and is
sternly refused. The mayor's two daughters
beg for their true-love's lives with the same
bad success. The students are hanged, and
the father goes home to tell his wife that they
are put to a higher school. She, A [he, D],
vows to pass the rest of her days in penance
and grief.
A very well known German ballad, found
also in the Low Countries and in Scandinavia,
has the following story.[111] A youth is lying in a
dungeon, condemned to be hanged. His father
comes to the town, and they exchange words
about the severity of his prison. The father
then goes to the lord of the place and offers
three hundred florins as a ransom. Ransom
is refused: the boy has a gold chain on his
neck which will be his death. The father
says that the chain was not stolen, but the
gift of a young lady, who reared the boy as a
page, or what not. There is no dear bought
love in the case. The father, standing by the
gallows, threatens revenge, but his son deprecates
that: he cares not so much for his life as
for his mother's grief. Within a bare half
year, more than three hundred men pay with
their lives for the death of the boy.[112]
A Spanish and Italian ballad has resemblances
with the Scottish and the German,
and may possibly be a common link: 'Los
tres estudiantes,' Milá, Romancerillo, p. 165,
No 208, A-L, previously, in Observaciones,
etc., p. 104, No 6, 'Los estudiantes de Tolosa;'
'Los estudians de Tortosa,' Briz y Candi,
I, 101; 'Gli scolari di Tolosa,' Nigra, Rivista
Contemporanea, XX, 62. Three students
meet three girls, and attempt some little jests
with them: ask them for a kiss, Milá, H;
throw small pebbles at them, Milá, D; meet
one girl on a bridge and kiss her, Nigra. For
this the girls have them arrested by an accommodating
catchpoll, and they are hanged by
a peremptory judge. The youngest student
weeps all the time; the eldest tries to console
him; their brother serves a king or duke, and
if he hears of what has been done will kill
judge, constable, and all their scribes. The
brother gets word somehow, and comes with
all speed, but the three clerks are hanged before
he arrives. He gives the town of Tolosa
to the flames, the streets run with the blood
of the judge, and horses swim in the blood of
the girls, Milá, C, Briz; the streets are washed
with the blood of women, walls built of the
heads of men, Milá, A; etc.
In a pretty passage in Buchan's not altogether
trustworthy version, C 35-38, the clerks
ask back their faith and troth before they die.
For this ceremony see 'Sweet William's
Ghost.'
Aytoun's ballad is translated by Knortz
Schottische Balladen, p. 72, No 23.
A
Kinloch MSS, V, 403, in the handwriting of James Chambers,
as sung to his maternal grandmother, Janet Grieve,
seventy years before, by an old woman, a Miss Ann Gray,
of Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire; January 1, 1829.
1
O I will sing to you a sang,
But oh my heart is sair!
The clerk's twa sons in Owsenford
Has to learn some unco lair.
2
They hadna been in fair Parish
A twelvemonth an a day,
Till the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford
Wi the mayor's twa daughters lay.
3
O word's gaen to the mighty mayor,
As he saild on the sea,
That the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford
Wi his twa daughters lay.
4
'If they hae lain wi my twa daughters,
Meg an Marjorie,
The morn, or I taste meat or drink,
They shall be hangit hie.'
5
O word's gaen to the clerk himself,
As he sat drinkin wine,
That his twa sons in fair Parish
Were bound in prison strong.
6
Then up and spak the clerk's ladye,
And she spak powrfully:
'O tak with ye a purse of gold,
Or take with ye three,
And if ye canna get William,
Bring Andrew hame to me.'
* * * * *
7
'O lye ye here for owsen, dear sons,
Or lie ye here for kye?
Or what is it that ye lie for,
Sae sair bound as ye lie?'
8
'We lie not here for owsen, dear father,
Nor yet lie here for kye,
But it's for a little o dear bought love
Sae sair bound as we lie.'
9
O he's gane to the mighty mayor,
And he spoke powerfully:
'Will ye grant me my twa sons' lives,
Either for gold or fee?
Or will ye be sae gude a man
As grant them baith to me?'
10
'I'll no grant ye yere twa sons' lives,
Neither for gold or fee,
Nor will I be sae gude a man
As gie them back to thee;
Before the morn at twelve o'clock
Ye'll see them hangit hie.'
11
Up an spak his twa daughters,
An they spak powrfully:
'Will ye grant us our twa loves' lives,
Either for gold or fee?
Or will ye be sae gude a man
As grant them baith to me.'
12
'I'll no grant ye yere twa loves' lives,
Neither for gold or fee,
Nor will I be sae gude a man
As grant their lives to thee;
Before the morn at twelve o'clock
Ye'll see them hangit hie.'
13
O he's taen out these proper youths,
And hangd them on a tree,
And he's bidden the clerk o Owsenford
Gang hame to his ladie.
14
His lady sits on yon castle-wa,
Beholding dale an doun,
An there she saw her ain gude lord
Come walkin to the toun.
15
'Ye're welcome, welcome, my ain gude lord,
Ye're welcome hame to me;
But where away are my twa sons?
Ye should hae brought them wi ye.'
16
'It's I've putten them to a deeper lair,
An to a higher schule;
Yere ain twa sons ill no be here
Till the hallow days o Yule.'
17
'O sorrow, sorrow come mak my bed,
An dool come lay me doon!
For I'll neither eat nor drink,
Nor set a fit on ground.'
B
Noted down from a female servant by Dr Joseph Robertson,
July 15, 1829; "Adversaria," p. 67.
* * * * *
1
'De weel, de weel, my twa young sons,
An learn weel at the squeel;
Tak no up wi young women-kin,
An learn to act the feel.'
2
But they had na been in Blomsbury
A twalmon and a day,
Till the twa pretty clerks o Owsenfoord
Wi the mayr's dauchters did lay.
3
Word has gaen till the auld base mayr,
As he sat at his wine,
That the twa pretty clerks o Owsenford
Wi his daughters had lien.
4
Then out bespak the auld base mayr,
An an angry man was he:
'Tomorrow, before I eat meat or drink,
I'll see them hanged hie.'
5
But word has gaen to Owsenfoord
. . . . . . .
Before the letter was read,
She let the tears doun fa.
* * * * *
6
'Your sons are weel, an verra weel,
An learnin at the squeel;
But I fear ye winna see your sons
At the holy days o Yeel.'
7
Their father he went to Bloomsbury,
He turnit him roun about,
An there he saw his twa braw sons,
In the prison, leukin out.
8
'O lie ye there for owsen, my sons,
Or lie ye there for kye?
Or lie ye there for dear fond love,
Si closs as ye de lie?'
9
'We lie na here for owsen, father,
We lie na here for kye,
But we lie here for dear fond love,
An we're condemned to die.'
* * * * *
10
Then out bespak the clerks' fader,
An a sorry man was he:
'Gae till your bowers, ye lillie-flowers,
For a' this winna dee.'
11
Then out bespak the aul base mayr,
An an angry man was he:
'Gar to your bowers, ye vile base whores,
Ye'll see them hanged hie.'
* * * * *
C
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 281.
1
I'll tell you a tale, or I'll sing you a song,
Will grieve your heart full sair;
How the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
Went aff to learn their lear.
2
Their father lovd them very weel,
Their mother muckle mair,
And sent them on to Billsbury,
To learn deeper lear.
3
Then out it spake their mother dear:
'Do weel, my sons, do weel,
And haunt not wi the young women,
Wi them to play the fiel.'
4
Their father sware them on their souls,
Their mother on their life,
Never to lie wi the auld mayor's daughters,
Nor kiss the young mayor's wife.
5
But they hadna been in Billsbury
A twallmonth and a day,
Till the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
With the mayor's twa daughters lay.
6
As these twa clerks they sat and wrote,
The ladies sewed and sang;
There was mair mirth in that chamber
Than all fair Ferrol's land.
7
But word's gane to the wicked mayor,
As he sat at the wine,
That the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
With his twa daughters had lyne.
8
'O have they lain with my daughters dear,
Heirs out ower a' my land,
The morn, ere I eat or drink,
I'll hang them with my hand.'
9
Then he has taen the twa bonny clerks,
Bound them frae tap to tae,
Till the reddest blood in their body
Out ower their nails did gae.
10
'Whare will I get a little wee boy,
Will win gowd to his fee,
That will rin on to Oxenford,
And that right speedilie?'
11
Then up it starts a bonny boy,
Gold yellow was his hair;
I wish his father and mother joy,
His true-love muckle mair.
12
Says, Here am I, a little wee boy,
Will win gowd to my fee,
That will rin on to Oxenford,
And that right speedilie.
13
'Where ye find the grass green growing,
Set down your heel and rin,
And where ye find the brigs broken,
Ye'll bend your bow and swim.
14
'But when ye come to Oxenford,
Bide neither to chap nor ca,
But set your bent bow to your breast,
And lightly loup the wa.'
15
Where he found the grass green growing,
He slackt his shoes and ran,
And where he found the brigs broken,
He bent his bow and swam.
16
And when he came to Oxenford,
Did neither chap nor ca,
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly leapt the wa.
17
'What news, what news, my little wee boy?
What news hae ye to me?
How are my sons in Billsbury,
Since they went far frae me?'
18
'Your sons are well, and learning well,
But at a higher school,
And ye'll never see your sons again,
On the holy days o Yule.'
19
'Wi sorrow now gae make my bed,
Wi care and caution lay me down;
That man on earth shall neer be born
Shall see me mair gang on the groun.
20
'Take twenty pounds in your pocket,
And ten and ten to tell them wi,
And gin ye getna hynde Henry,
Bring ye gay Gilbert hame to me.'
21
Out it speaks old Oxenford,
A sorry, sorry man, was he:
'Your strange wish does me surprise,
They are baith there alike to me.
22
'Wi sorrow now I'll saddle my horse,
And I will gar my bridle ring,
And I shall be at Billsbury
Before the small birds sweetly sing.'
23
Then sweetly sang the nightingale,
As she sat on the wand,
But sair, sair, mournd Oxenford,
As he gaed in the strand.
24
When he came to Billsbury,
He rade it round about,
And at a little shott-window
His sons were looking out.
25
'O lye ye there, my sons,' he said,
'For oxen, or for kye?
Or is it for a little o deep dear love,
Sae sair bound as ye lye?'
26
'We lye not here, father,' they said,
'For oxen, nor for kye;
It's all for a little o deep dear love,
Sae sair bound as we lye.
27
'O borrow's, borrow's, father,' they said,
'For the love we bear to thee!'
'O never fear, my pretty sons,
Well borrowed ye shall be.'
28
Then he's gane to the wicked mayor,
And hailed him courteouslie:
'Good day, good day, O Billsbury,
God make you safe and free!'
'Come sit you down, brave Oxenford,
What are your wills with me?'
29
'Will ye gie me my sons again,
For gold or yet for fee?
Will ye gie me my sons again,
For's sake that died on tree?'
30
'I winna gie you your sons again,
For gold nor yet for fee;
But if ye'll stay a little while,
Ye'se see them hanged hie.'
31
Ben it came the mayor's daughters,
Wi kirtle, coat alone;
Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,
As they tript on the stone.
32
'Will ye gie us our loves, father,
For gold or yet for fee?
Or will ye take our own sweet life,
And let our true-loves be?'
33
He's taen a whip into his hand,
And lashd them wondrous sair:
Gae to your bowers, ye vile rank whores,
Ye'se never see them mair.
34
Then out it speaks old Oxenford,
A sorry man was he:
'Gang to your bowers, ye lily-flowers,
For a' this maunna be.'
35
Out it speaks him hynde Henry:
'Come here, Janet, to me;
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?'
36
'Ye shall hae your faith and troth,
Wi God's blessing and mine;'
And twenty times she kissd his mouth,
Her father looking on.
37
Then out it speaks him gay Gilbert:
'Come here, Margaret, to me;
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?'
38
'Yes, ye shall get your faith and troth,
Wi God's blessing and mine;'
And twenty times she kissd his mouth,
Her father looking on.
39
'Ye'll take aff your twa black hats,
Lay them down on a stone,
That nane may ken that ye are clerks
Till ye are putten down.'
40
The bonny clerks they died that morn,
Their loves died lang ere noon;
Their father and mother for sorrow died,
They all died very soon.
41
These six souls went up to heaven,
I wish sae may we a'!
The mighty mayor went down to hell,
For wrong justice and law.
D