Ballad Book by Katherine Lee Bates (ed.)

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In honor of which noble day,
And for his ladies sake,
A challenge in king Arthurs court
Tom Thumbe did bravely make.

Gainst whom these noble knights did run,
Sir Chinon and the rest,
Yet still Tom Thumbe with matchles might
Did beare away the best.

He likewise cleft the smallest haire
From his faire ladies head,
Not hurting her whose even hand
Him lasting honors bred.

Such were his deeds and noble acts
In Arthurs court there showne,
As like in all the world beside
Was hardly seene or knowne.

Now at these sports he toyld himselfe
That he a sicknesse tooke,
Through which all manly exercise
He carelesly forsooke.

Where lying on his bed sore sicke,
King Arthurs doctor came,
With cunning skill, by physicks art,
To ease and cure the same.

His body being so slender small,
This cunning doctor tooke
A fine prospective glasse, with which
He did in secret looke

Into his sickened body downe,
And therein saw that Death
Stood ready in his wasted guts
To sease his vitall breath.

His armes and leggs consum'd as small
As was a spiders web,
Through which his dying houre grew on,
For all his limbes grew dead.

His face no bigger than an ants,
Which hardly could be seene:
The losse of which renowned knight
Much griev'd the king and queene.

And so with peace and quietnesse
He left this earth below;
And up into the Fayry Land
His ghost did fading goe.

Whereas the Fayry Queene receiv'd
With heavy mourning cheere,
The body of this valiant knight
Whom she esteem'd so deere.

For with her dancing nymphes in greene,
She fetcht him from his bed,
With musicke and sweet melody
So soone as life was fled:

For whom king Arthur and his knights
Full forty daies did mourne;
And, in remembrance of his name
That was so strangely borne,

He built a tomb of marble gray,
And yeare by yeare did come
To celebrate the mournefull day,
And buriall of Tom Thum.

Whose fame still lives in England here,
Amongst the countrey sort;
Of whom our wives and children small
Tell tales of pleasant sport.

* * * * *

KEMPION.

Her mither died when she was young,
Which gave her cause to make great moan;
Her father married the warse woman
That ever lived in Christendom.

She served her well wi' foot and hand,
In everything that, she could dee;
But her stepmither hated her warse and warse,
And a powerful wicked witch was she.

"Come hither, come hither, ye cannot choose;
And lay your head low on my knee;
The heaviest weird I will you read
That ever was read to gay ladye.

"Mickle dolour sail ye dree
When o'er the saut seas maun ye swim;
And far mair dolour sail ye dree
When up to Estmere Crags ye climb.

"I weird ye be a fiery snake;
And borrowed sall ye never be,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Come to the crag and thrice kiss thee.
Until the warld comes to an end,
Borrowed sall ye never be!"

O mickle dolour did she dree,
And aye the saut seas o'er she swam;
And far mair dolour did she dree
On Estmere Crags, when up she clamb.

And aye she cried on Kempion,
Gin he would but come to her han':--
Now word has gane to Kempion,
That siccan a beast was in the lan'.

"Now by my sooth," said Kempion,
"This fiery beast I'll gang and see."
"An' by my sooth," said Segramour,
"My ae brither, I'll gang wi' thee."

They twa hae biggit a bonny boat,
And they hae set her to the sea;
But a mile afore they reach'd the shore,
Around them 'gan the red fire flee.

The worm leapt out, the worm leapt down,
She plaited nine times round stock and stane;
And aye as the boat cam' to the beach,
O she hae strickit it aff again.

"Min' how you steer, my brither dear:
Keep further aff!" said Segramour;
"She'll drown us deep in the saut, saut sea,
Or burn us sair, if we come on shore."

Syne Kempion has bent an arblast bow,
And aimed an arrow at her head;
And swore, if she didna quit the shore,
Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.

"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."

He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag,
And he has gi'en that beast a kiss:
In she swang, and again she cam',
And aye her speech was a wicked hiss.

"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
An' not for a' thy bow nor thee,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."

He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag,
And he has gi'en her kisses twa;
In she swang, and again she cam',
The fieriest beast that ever you saw.

"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."

He's louted him o'er the lofty crag,
And he has gi'en her kisses three;
In she swang, a loathly worm;
An' out she stepped, a fair ladye.

Nae cleeding had this lady fair,
To keep her body frae the cold;
But Kempion took his mantle aff,
And around his ain true love did fold.

"An' by my sooth," says Kempion,
"My ain true love!--for this is she,--
They surely had a heart o' stane,
Could put thee to this misery.

"O was it wer-wolf in the wood,
Or was it mermaid in the sea,
Or wicked man, or wile woman,
My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee?"

"It was na wer-wolf in the wood,
Nor was it mermaid in the sea;
But it was my wicked stepmither,
And wae and weary may she be!"

"O a heavier weird light her upon
Than ever fell on wile woman!
Her hair sall grow rough, an' her teeth grow lang,
An' aye upon four feet maun she gang."

* * * * *

ALISON GROSS.

O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tower,
The ugliest witch in the north countrie,
Has trysted me ae day up till her bower,
And mony fair speech she made to me.

She straiked my head, and she kaim'd my hair,
And she set me down saftly on her knee;
Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
Sae mony braw things as I wad you gie."

She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet,
Wi' gowden flowers and fringes fine;
Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
This gudely gift it sall be thine."

"Awa', awa', ye ugly witch!
Haud far awa', and lat me be;
I never will be your lemman sae true,
And I wish I were out o' your companie."

She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk,
Weel wrought wi' pearls about the band;
Says, "Gin ye will be my ain true-love,
This gudely gift ye sall command."

She shaw'd me a cup o' the gude red gowd,
Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see;
Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
This gudely gift I will you gie."

"Awa', awa', ye ugly witch!
Haud far awa', and lat me be;
For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth
For a' the gifts that you could gie."

She's turn'd her richt and round about,
And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn;
And she sware by the moon, and the stars
That she'd gar me rue the day I was born.

Then out she has ta'en a silver wand,
And she's turn'd her three times round and round;
She's muttered sic words, that my strength it fail'd,
And I fell down senseless on the ground.

She's turned me into an ugly worm,
And gar'd me toddle about the tree;
And ay, on ilka Saturday's night,
Auld Alison Gross, she cam' to me,

Wi' silver basin, and silver kaim,
To kaim my headie upon her knee;
But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth,
I'd rather hae toddled about the tree.

But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en,
When the Seely Court was ridin' by,
The Queen lighted down on a gowan bank,
Nae far frae the tree where I wont to lye.

She took me up in her milk-white hand,
And she straiked me three times o'er her knee;
She changed me again to my ain proper shape,
And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree.

* * * * *

THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL.

There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sea.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
When word cam' to the carline wife,
That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
When word cam' to the carline wife,
That her sons she'd never see.

"I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood!"

It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons cam' hame,
And their hats were o' the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o' Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.

"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine,
Bring water from the well!
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Sin' my three sons are well."

And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide;
And she's happed her mantle them about,
Sat down at the bed-side.

Up then crew the red red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
"'Tis time we were away."

"The cock doth, craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin' worm doth chide;
Gin we be miss'd out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide."

"Lie still, lie still a little wee while,
Lie still but if we may;
Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll go mad ere it be day."

O it's they've ta'en up their mother's mantle,
And they've hangd it on the pin:
"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle,
Ere ye hap us again!

'Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare-ye-weel, the bonny lass,
That kindles my mother's fire."

* * * * *

A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Everie nighte and alle,
Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thye saule.

When thou from hence away art paste,
Everie nighte and alle,
To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste,
And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
Everie nighte and alle,
Sit thee down and put them on,
And Christe receive thye saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Everie nighte and alle,
The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane,
And Christe receive thye saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
Everie nighte and alle,
To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at last,
And Christe receive thye saule.

From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe,
Everie nighte and alle,
To Purgatory Fire thou comest at last,
And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest meate or drinke,
Everie nighte and alle,
The fire shall never make thee shrinke,
And Christe receive thye saule.

If meate or drinke thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Everie nighte and alle,
The fire will burne thee to the bare bane,
And Christe receive thye saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Everie nighte and alle,
Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thye saule.

* * * * *

PROUD LADY MARGARET.

'Twas on a night, an evening bright,
When the dew began to fa',
Lady Margaret was walkin' up and doun,
Looking ower the castle wa'.

She lookit east, she lookit west,
To see what she could spy,
When a gallant knight cam' in her sight,
And to the gate drew nigh.

"God mak' you safe and free, fair maid,
God mak' you safe and free!"
"O sae fa' you, ye stranger knight,
What is your will wi' me?"

"It's I am come to this castle,
To seek the love o' thee;
And if ye grant me not your love
All for your sake I'll die."

"If ye should die for me, young man,
There's few for ye will maen;
For mony a better has died for me,
Whose graves are growing green."

"O winna ye pity me, fair maid,
O winna ye pity me?
Hae pity for a courteous knight,
Whose love is laid on thee."

"Ye say ye are a courteous knight,
But I misdoubt ye sair;
I think ye're but a miller lad,
By the white clothes ye wear.

"But ye maun read my riddle," she said,
"And answer me questions three;
And but ye read them richt," she said,
"Gae stretch ye out and die.

"What is the fairest flower, tell me,
That grows on muir or dale?
And what is the bird, the bonnie bird,
Sings next the nightingale?
And what is the finest thing," she says,
"That king or queen can wale?"

"The primrose is the fairest flower,
That springs on muir or dale;

The mavis is the sweetest bird
Next to the nightingale;
And yellow gowd's the finest thing,
That king or queen can wale."

"But what is the little coin," she said,
"Wad buy my castle boun'?
And what's the little boat," she said,
"Can sail the warld all roun'?"

"O hey, how mony small pennies
Mak' thrice three thousand poun'?
O hey, how mony small fishes
Swim a' the saut sea roun'?"

"I think ye are my match," she said,
"My match, an' something mair;
Ye are the first ere got the grant
Of love frae my father's heir.

"My father was lord o' nine castles,
My mither lady o' three;
My father was lord o' nine castles,
And there's nane to heir but me,
Unless it be Willie, my ae brither,
But he's far ayont the sea."

"If your father's lord o' nine castles,
Your mither lady o' three;
It's I am Willie, your ae brither,
Was far ayont the sea."

"If ye be my brither Willie," she said,
"As I doubt sair ye be,
This nicht I'll neither eat nor drink,
But gae alang wi' thee."

"Ye've owre ill-washen feet, Margaret,
And owre ill-washen hands,
And owre coarse robes on your body,
Alang wi' me to gang.

"The worms they are my bedfellows,
And the cauld clay my sheet,
And the higher that the wind does blaw,
The sounder do I sleep.

"My body's buried in Dunfermline,
Sae far ayont the sea:
But day nor night nae rest can I get,
A' for the pride of thee.

"Leave aff your pride, Margaret," he says;
"Use it not ony mair,
Or, when ye come where I hae been,
Ye will repent it sair.

"Cast aff, cast aff, sister," he says,
"The gowd band frae your croun;
For if ye gang where I hae been,
Ye'll wear it laigher doun.

"When ye are in the gude kirk set,
The gowd pins in your hair,
Ye tak' mair delight in your feckless dress,
Than in your mornin' prayer.

"And when ye walk in the kirkyard,
And in your dress are seen,
There is nae lady that spies your face,
But wishes your grave were green.

"Ye're straight and tall, handsome withal,
But your pride owergangs your wit;
If ye do not your ways refrain,
In Pirie's chair ye'll sit.

"In Pirie's chair ye'll sit, I say,
The lowest seat in hell;
If ye do not amend your ways,
It's there that ye maun dwell!"

Wi' that he vanished frae her sight,
In the twinking of an eye;
And naething mair the lady saw
But the gloomy clouds and sky.

* * * * *

THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE.

There were twa sisters lived in a bower;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
The youngest o' them, O she was a flower,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

There cam' a squire frae the west,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

The eldest she was vexed sair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And sore envied her sister fair,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

The eldest said to the youngest ane,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"Will ye see our father's ships come in?"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

She's ta'en her by the lily hand;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And led her down to the river strand,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

The youngest stood upon a stane;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
The eldest cam' and pushed her in,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

"O sister, sister, reach your hand,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And ye shall be heir of half my land,"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

"O sister, I'll not reach my hand,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And I'll be the heir of all your land;
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

"Shame fa' the hand that I should take,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
It has twined me and my world's make;"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

"O sister, sister, reach your glove,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And sweet William shall be your love;"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

"Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And sweet William shall be mair my love,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

"Your cherry cheeks, and your yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Had gar'd me gang maiden ever mair,"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Until she cam' to the miller's dam;
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

The miller's daughter was baking bread,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And gaed for water as she had need,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

"O father, father, draw your dam!
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
For there is a lady or milk-white swan,"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

The miller hasted and drew his dam,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And there he found a drown'd woman,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

Ye couldna see her yellow hair,
Birmorie, O Binnorie;
For gowd and pearls that were sae rare;
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

Ye couldna see her middle sma',
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Her gowden girdle was sae braw,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

Ye couldna see her lilie feet,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Her gowden fringes were sae deep,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

"Sair will they be, whae'er they be,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
The hearts that live to weep for thee!"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

There cam' a harper passing by,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

And when he looked that lady on,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
He sighed and made a heavy moan,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

He has ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

He brought the harp to her father's hall;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And there was the court assembled all;
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

He set the harp upon a stane,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And it began to play alane,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

And sune the harp sang loud and clear,
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
"Farewell, my father and mither dear!"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

And neist when the harp began to sing,
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
'Twas "Farewell, sweetheart!" said the string,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

And then as plain as plain could be,
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
"There sits my sister wha drowned me!"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

* * * * *

THE DEMON LOVEE.

"O, where hae ye been, my lang-lost love,
This lang seven years an' more?"
"O, I'm come to seek my former vows
Ye granted me before."

"O, haud your tongue o' your former vows,
For they'll breed bitter strife;
O, haud your tongue o' your former vows,
For I am become a wife."

He turned him right an' round about,
And the tear blinded his e'e;
"I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground
If it hadna been for thee.

"I might hae had a king's daughter
Far, far ayont the sea,
I might hae had a king's daughter,
Had it nae been for love o' thee."

"If ye might hae had a king's daughter,
Yoursel' ye hae to blame;
Ye might hae taken the king's daughter,
For ye kenn'd that I was nane."

"O fause be the vows o' womankind,
But fair is their fause bodie;
I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground
Had it nae been for love o' thee."

"If I was to leave my husband dear,
And my twa babes also,
O where is it ye would tak' me to,
If I with thee should go?"

"I hae seven ships upon the sea,
The eighth brouct me to land,
Wi' four-and-twenty bold mariners,
And music of ilka hand."

She has taken up her twa little babes,
Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin;
"O fare ye weel, my ain twa babes,
For I'll never see you again."

She set her foot upon the ship,
No mariners could she behold;
But the sails were o' the taffetie,
And the masts o' the beaten gold.

"O how do you love the ship?" he said,
"O how do you love the sea?
And how do you love the bold mariners
That wait upon thee and me?"

"O I do love the ship," she said,
"And I do love the sea;
But wae to the dim mariners
That naewhere I can see!"

They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,
And drumly grew his e'e.

The masts that were like the beaten gold,
Bent not on the heaving seas;
The sails that were o' the taffetie
Fill'd not in the east land breeze.

They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
Until she espied his cloven hoof,
And she wept right bitterlie.

"O haud your tongue o' your weeping," he says:
"O' your weeping now let me be;
I will show you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy."

"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?"
"O yon are the hills o' heaven," he said
"Where you will never won."

"O what'n a mountain's yon," she said,
"Sae dreary wi' frost an' snow?"
"O yon is the mountain o' hell," he cried,
"Where you and I maun go!"

And aye when she turn'd her round about,
Aye taller he seemed for to be;
Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
Nae taller were than he.

He strack the tapmast wi' his hand,
The foremast wi' his knee;
And he brak that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her i' the sea.

* * * * *

RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED.

There was a knicht riding frae the east,
_Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree_.
Who had been wooing at monie a place,
_As the dew flies ower the mulberry tree_.

He cam' unto a widow's door,
And speird whare her three dochters were.

The auldest ane's to a washing gane,
The second's to a baking gane.

The youngest ane's to a wedding gane,
And it will be nicht or she be hame.

He sat him doun upon a stane,
Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.

The auldest ane she let him in,
And pin'd the door wi' a siller pin.

The second ane she made his bed,
And laid saft pillows unto his head.

The youngest ane was bauld and bricht,
And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.

"Gin ye will answer me questions ten,
The morn ye sall be made my ain.

"O what is heigher nor the tree?
And what is deeper nor the sea?

"Or what is heavier nor the lead?
And what is better nor the breid?

"O what is whiter nor the milk?
Or what is safter nor the silk?

"Or what is sharper nor a thorn?
Or what is louder nor a horn?

"Or what is greener nor the grass?
Or what is waur nor a woman was?"

"O heaven is higher nor the tree,
And hell is deeper nor the sea.

"O sin is heavier nor the lead,
The blessing's better nor the breid.

"The snaw is whiter nor the milk,
And the down is safter nor the silk.

"Hunger is sharper nor a thorn,
And shame is louder nor a horn.

"The pies are greener nor the grass,
And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."

As sune as she the fiend did name,
_Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree_,
He flew awa in a blazing flame,
_As the dew files ower the mulberry tree_.

* * * * *

BALLADS OF TRADITION.

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

The King sits in Dunfermline toun,
Drinking the blude-red wine;
"O whaur shall I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this gude ship of mine?"

Then up an' spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the King's right knee;
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."

The King has written a braid letter,
And seal'd it wi' 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 to Noroway,
It's thou maun tak' her hame."

The first line that Sir Patrick read,
A loud laugh laughed he,
The neist line that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his e'e.

"O wha is this hae dune this deed,
And tauld the King o' me,
To send us out at this time o' the year
To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind or weet, be it hail or sleet,
Our ship maun sail the faem,
The King's daughter to Noroway,
'Tis we maun tak' her hame."

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

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

"Ye Scotsmen spend a' our King's gowd,
And a' our Queenis fee."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,
Sae loud's I hear ye lie!

"For I brouct as mickle white monie,
As gane my men and me,
And a half-fou o' the gude red gold,
Out owre the sea wi' me.

"Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a',
Our gude ship 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 I fear, I fear, my master dear,
That we sall come to harm!"

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

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