Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 64

She 's ta'en a cake o' the best bread, A stoup o' the best wine, And a' the keys upon her arm, And to the yett is gane.

'O ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, To your castles and your towers; Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, To your ha's, but and your bowers.

And welcome to your hame, fair lady!

For a' that 's here is yours.'

'O whatna lady 's that, my lord, That welcomes you and me?

Gin I be lang about this place, Her friend I mean to be.'

Fair Annie served the lang tables Wi' the white bread and the wine; But ay she drank the wan water To keep her colour fine.

And she gaed by the first table, And smiled upon them a'; But ere she reach'd the second table, The tears began to fa'.

She took a napkin lang and white, And hung it on a pin; It was to wipe away the tears, As she gaed out and in.

When bells were rung and ma.s.s was sung, And a' men bound for bed, The bridegroom and the bonny Bride In ae chamber were laid.

Fair Annie's ta'en a harp in her hand, To harp thir twa asleep; But ay, as she harpit and she sang, Fu' sairly did she weep.

'O gin my sons were seven rats, Rinnin' on the castle wa', And I mysell a great grey cat, I soon wad worry them a'!

'O gin my sons were seven hares, Rinnin' owre yon lily lea, And I mysell a good greyhound, Soon worried they a' should be!'

Then out and spak the bonny young Bride, In bride-bed where she lay: 'That 's like my sister Annie,' she says; 'Wha is it doth sing and play?

'I'll put on my gown,' said the new-come Bride, 'And my shoes upon my feet; I will see wha doth sae sadly sing, And what is it gars her greet.

'What ails you, what ails you, my housekeeper, That ye mak sic a mane?

Has ony wine-barrel cast its girds, Or is a' your white bread gane?'

'It isna because my wine is spilt, Or that my white bread's gane; But because I've lost my true love's love, And he 's wed to anither ane.'

'Noo tell me wha was your father?' she says, 'Noo tell me wha was your mother?

And had ye ony sister?' she says, 'And had ye ever a brother?'

'The Earl of Wemyss was my father, The Countess of Wemyss my mother, Young Elinor she was my sister dear, And Lord John he was my brother.'

'If the Earl of Wemyss was your father, I wot sae was he mine; And it 's O my sister Annie!

Your love ye sallna tyne.

'Tak your husband, my sister dear; You ne'er were wrang'd for me, Beyond a kiss o' his merry mouth As we cam owre the sea.

'Seven s.h.i.+ps, loaded weel, Cam owre the sea wi' me; Ane o' them will tak me hame, And six I'll gie to thee.'

jimp] trim. yett] gate. tyne] lose.

Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent.

373. Edward, Edward

'WHY does your brand sae drop wi' blude, Edward, Edward?

Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude, And why sae sad gang ye, O?'

'O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude, Mither, mither; O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude, And I had nae mair but he, O.'

'Your hawk's blude was never sae red, Edward, Edward; Your hawk's blude was never sae red, My dear son, I tell thee, O.'

'O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed, Mither, mither; O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed, That erst was sae fair and free, O.'

'Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair, Edward, Edward; Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair; Some other dule ye dree, O.'

'O I hae kill'd my father dear, Mither, mither; O I hae kill'd my father dear, Alas, and wae is me, O!'

'And whatten penance will ye dree for that, Edward, Edward?

Whatten penance will ye dree for that?

My dear son, now tell me, O.'

'I'll set my feet in yonder boat, Mither, mither; I'll set my feet in yonder boat, And I'll fare over the sea, O.'

'And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha', Edward, Edward?

And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha', That were sae fair to see, O?'

'I'll let them stand till they doun fa', Mither, mither; I'll let them stand till they doun fa', For here never mair maun I be, O.'

'And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, When ye gang owre the sea, O?'

'The warld's room: let them beg through life, Mither, mither; The warld's room: let them beg through life; For them never mair will I see, O.'

'And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, My dear son, now tell me, O?'

'The curse of h.e.l.l frae me sall ye bear, Mither, mither; The curse of h.e.l.l frae me sall ye bear: Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!'

dule ye dree] grief you suffer.

Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent.

374. Edom o' Gordon

IT fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, 'We maun draw to a hauld.

'And what a hauld sall we draw to, My merry men and me?

We will gae to the house o' the Rodes, To see that fair ladye.'

The lady stood on her castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down; There she was ware of a host of men Cam riding towards the town.

'O see ye not, my merry men a', O see ye not what I see?

Methinks I see a host of men; I marvel wha they be.'

She ween'd it had been her lovely lord, As he cam riding hame; It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon, Wha reck'd nae sin nor shame.

She had nae sooner buskit hersell, And putten on her gown, But Edom o' Gordon an' his men Were round about the town.