A Collection of Ballads Part 17

Balow, my boy, etc.

Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman's mouth.

Let never any after me Submit unto thy courtesy!

For, if hey do, O! cruel thou Wilt her abuse and care not how!

Balow, my boy, etc.

I was too cred'lous at the first, To yield thee all a maiden durst.

Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love; But quick as thought the change is wrought, Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought.

Balow, my boy, etc.

I wish I were a maid again!

From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain; For now unto my grief I find They all are perjur'd and unkind; Bewitching charms bred all my harms;-- Witness my babe lies in my arms.

Balow, my boy, etc.

I take my fate from bad to worse, That I must needs be now a nurse, And lull my young son on my lap: From me, sweet orphan, take the pap.

Balow, my child, thy mother mild Shall wail as from all bliss exil'd.

Balow, my boy, etc.

Balow, my boy, weep not for me, Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee.

Nor pity her deserved smart, Who can blame none but her fond heart; For, too soon tursting latest finds With fairest tongues are falsest minds.

Balow, my boy, etc.

Balow, my boy, thy father's fled, When he the thriftless son has played; Of vows and oaths forgetful, he Preferr'd the wars to thee and me.

But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine Make him eat acorns with the swine.

Balow, my boy, etc.

But curse not him; perhaps now he, Stung with remorse, is blessing thee: Perhaps at death; for who can tell Whether the judge of heaven or h.e.l.l, By some proud foe has struck the blow, And laid the dear deceiver low?

Balow, my boy, etc.

I wish I were into the bounds Where he lies smother'd in his wounds, Repeating, as he pants for air, My name, whom once he call'd his fair; No woman's yet so fiercely set But she'll forgive, though not forget.

Balow, my boy, etc.

If linen lacks, for my love's sake Then quickly to him would I make My smock, once for his body meet, And wrap him in that winding-sheet.

Ah me! how happy had I been, If he had ne'er been wrapt therein.

Balow, my boy, etc.

Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee; Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me: Thy griefs are growing to a sum, G.o.d grant thee patience when they come; Born to sustain thy mother's shame, A hapless fate, a b.a.s.t.a.r.d's name.

Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.

Ballad: Jock O The Side

(Child, Part VI., p. 479.)

Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid, But I wat they had better staid at hame; For Mitch.e.l.l o Winfield he is dead, And my son Johnie is prisner tane?

With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.

For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane, Her coats she has kilted up to her knee; And down the water wi speed she rins, While tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.

Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton: "What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?"

"Bad news, bad news, my lord Mangerton; Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie."

"Neer fear, sister Downie," quo Mangerton; "I hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie, My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a' weel filld, And I'll part wi them a' ere Johnie shall die.

"Three men I'll take to set him free, Weel harnessd a' wi best of steel; The English rogues may hear, and drie The weight o their braid swords to feel

"The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa, O Hobie n.o.ble, thou ane maun be!

Thy coat is blue, thou has been true, Since England banishd thee, to me."

Now, Hobie was an English man, In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born; But his misdeeds they were sae great, They banished him neer to return.

Lord Mangerton then orders gave,-- "Your horses the wrang way maun a' be shod; Like gentlemen ye must not seem, But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.

"Your armour gude ye maunna shaw, Nor ance appear like men o weir; As country lads be all arrayd, Wi branks and brecham on ilk mare."

Sae now a' their horses are shod the wrang way, And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine, Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse behind, And on they rode for the water o Tyne.

At the Cholerford they a' light down, And there, wi the help o the light o the moon, A tree they cut, wi fifteen naggs upon each side, To climb up the wall of Newcastle toun.

But when they came to Newcastle toun, And were alighted at the wa, They fand their tree three ells oer laigh, They fand their stick baith short aid sma.

Then up and spake the Laird's ain Jock, "There's naething for't; the gates we maun force."

But when they cam the gate unto, A proud porter withstood baith men and horse.

His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung; Wi foot or hand he neer play'd paw; His life and his keys at anes they hae taen, And cast his body ahind the wa.

Now soon they reached Newcastle jail, And to the prisner thus they call: "Sleips thou, wakes thou, Jock o the Side, Or is thou wearied o thy thrall?"

Jock answers thus, wi dolefu tone: "Aft, aft I wake, I seldom sleip; But wha's this kens my name sae weel, And thus to hear my waes does seek?"

Then up and spake the good Laird's Jock: "Neer fear ye now, my billie," quo he; "For here's the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, And Hobie n.o.ble, come to set thee free."

"Oh, had thy tongue, and speak nae mair, And o thy talk now let me be!

For if a' Liddesdale were here the night, The morn's the day that I maun die.

"Full fifteen stane o Spanish iron, They hae laid a' right sair on me; Wi locks and keys I am fast bound Into this dungeon mirk and drearie."

"Fear ye no that," quo the Laird's Jock; "A faint heart neer wan a fair ladie; Work thou within, we'll work without, And I'll be sworn we set thee free."

The first strong dore that they came at, They loosed it without a key; The next chaind dore that they cam at, They gard it a' in flinders flee.

The prisner now, upo his back, The Laird's Jock's gotten up fu hie; And down the stair him, irons and a', Wi nae sma speed and joy brings he.

"Now, Jock, I wat," quo Hobie n.o.ble, "Part o the weight ye may lay on me,"

"I wat weel no," quo the Laird's Jock "I count him lighter than a flee."