A Bundle of Ballads Part 19

"Yea, sir, but Brock is gentle and mild, And softly she will fare; Thy horse is unruly and wild, i-wis; Aye skipping here and there."--

"What boot wilt thou have?" our king replied; "Now tell me in this stound."-- "No pence, nor halfpence, by my fay, But a n.o.ble in gold so round."--

"Here's twenty groats of white mon-ey, Sith thou wilt have it of me."-- "I would have sworn now," quoth the tanner, "Thou hadst not had one penni-e.

"But since we two have made a change, A change we must abide; Although thou hast gotten Brock my mare, Thou gettest not my cow-hide."--

"I will not have it," said the king, "I swear, so mote I thee; Thy foul cow-hide I would not bear, If thou wouldst give it to me."

The tanner he took his good cow-hide That of the cow was hilt; And threw it upon the king's sad-elle, That was so fairly gilt.

"Now help me up, thou fine fell-ow, 'Tis time that I were gone: When I come home to Gyllian my wife, She'll say I am a gentilmon."

When the tanner he was in the king's sad-elle, And his foot in the stirrup was; He marvelled greatly in his mind, Whether it were gold or bra.s.s.

But when his steed saw the cow's tail wag, And eke the black cow-horn; He stamped, and stared, and away he ran, As the devil had him borne.

The tanner he pulled, the tanner he sweat, And held by the pummel fast: At length the tanner came tumbling down; His neck he had well-nigh brast.

"Take thy horse again with a vengeance!" he said, "With me he shall not bide!"-- "My horse would have borne thee well enough, But he knew not of thy cow-hide.

"Yet if again thou fain wouldst change, As change full well may we, By the faith of my body, thou jolly tann-er, I will have some boot of thee."--

"What boot wilt thou have?" the tanner replied, "Now tell me in this stound."-- "No pence nor halfpence, sir, by my fay, But I will have twenty pound."--

"Here's twenty groats out of my purse; And twenty I have of thine: And I have one more, which we will spend Together at the wine."

The king set a bugle horn to his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill: And soon came lords, and soon came knights, Fast riding over the hill.

"Now, out alas!" the tanner he cried, "That ever I saw this day!

Thou art a strong thief, yon come thy fell-ows Will bear my cow-hide away!"--

"They are no thieves," the king replied, "I swear, so mote I thee: But they are the lords of the north countr-y, Here come to hunt with me."

And soon before our king they came, And knelt down on the ground: Then might the tanner have been away, He had liever than twenty pound.

"A collar, a collar, here!" said the king, "A collar!" he loud gan cry; Then would he liever than twenty pound, He had not been so nigh.

"A collar, a collar," the tanner he said, "I trow it will breed sorrow; After a collar cometh a halter, I trow I'll be hanged to-morrow."--

"Be not afraid, tanner," said our king; "I tell thee, so mote I thee, Lo here I make thee the best esquire That is in the north countrie.

"For Plumpton Park I will give thee, With tenements fair beside: 'Tis worth three hundred marks by the year, To maintain thy good cow-hide."--

"Gram-ercy, my liege," the tanner replied "For the favour thou hast me shown; If ever thou comest to merry Tam-worth, Neat's leather shall clout thy shoon."

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

The king sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine: "O whare will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new s.h.i.+p of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the king's right knee: "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sail-or That ever sailed the sea."

Our king has written a braid letter, And sealed it with his hand; And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the sand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame."

The first word that Sir Patrick read, A loud laugh laughed he: The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me; To send us out this time o' the year, To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our s.h.i.+p must sail the faem, The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say,--

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud, And a' our queenis fee."-- "Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud, Fu' loud I hear ye lie;

"For I brought as much white monie As gane my men and me, And I brought a half-fou of gude red goud, Out o'er the sea wi' me.

"Make ready, make ready, my merry men a', Our gude s.h.i.+p sails the morn!"-- "Now, ever alack, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm!

"I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm."

They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam o'er the broken s.h.i.+p, Till a' her sides were torn.

"O where will I get a gude sail-or To take my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall topmast To see if I can spy land?"--

"O here am I, a sailor gude, To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall topmast, But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."

He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bolt flew out of our goodly s.h.i.+p, And the salt sea it came in.

"Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And wap them into our s.h.i.+p's side, And let nae the sea come in."

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And they wapped them round that gude s.h.i.+p's side, But still the sea cam in.

O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords To wet their cork-heeled shoon!

But lang or a' the play was played They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather bed That flattered on the faem; And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam hame.

The ladies wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their true loves; For them they'll see nae mair.

O lang, lang, may the ladies sit, Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand!