The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 4/Chapter 87
A
PRINCE ROBERT has wedded a gay ladye,
He has wedded her with a ring;
Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
But he daur na bring her hame.
'Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear,
Your blessing now grant to me!'
'Instead of a blessing ye sall have my curse,
And you'll get nae blessing frae me.'
She has called upon her waiting-maid,
To fill a glass of wine;
She has called upon her fause steward,
To put rank poison in.
She has put it to her roudes lip,
And to her roudes chin;
She has put it to her fause, fause mouth,
But the never a drop gaed in.
He has put it to his bonny mouth,
And to his bonny chin,
He's put it to his cherry lip,
And sae fast the rank poison ran in.
'O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,
Your ae son and your heir;
O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,
And sons you'll never hae mair.
'O where will I get a little boy,
That will win hose and shoon,
To rin sae fast to Darlinton,
And bid Fair Eleanor come?
Then up and spake a little boy,
That wad win hose and shoon,
'O I'll away to Darlinton,
And bid Fair Eleanor come.'
O he has run to Darlinton,
And tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sell
To let the bonny boy in?
'Your gude-mother has made ye a rare dinour,
She's made it baith gude and fine;
Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour,
And ye maun cum till her and dine.'
It's twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town,
The langest that ever were gane;
But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light,
And she cam linkin in.
But when she came to Sillertoun town,
And into Sillertoun ha,
The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning,
And they were weeping a'.
'O where is now my wedded lord,
And where now can he be?
O where is now my wedded lord?
For him I canna see.'
'Your wedded lord is dead,' she says,
'And just gane to be laid in the clay;
Your wedded lord is dead,' she says,
'And just gane to be buried the day.
'Ye'se get nane o his gowd, ye'se get nane o his gear,
Ye'se get nae thing frae me;
Ye'se na get an inch o his gude broad land,
Tho your heart suld burst in three.'
'I want nane o his gowd, I want nane o his gear,
I want nae land frae thee;
But I'll hae the ring that's on his finger,
For them he did promise to me.'
'Ye'se na get the ring that's on his finger,
Ye'se na get them frae me;
Ye'se na get the ring that's on his finger,
An your heart suld burst in three.'
She's turn'd her back unto the wa,
And her face unto a rock,
And there, before the mother's face,
Her very heart it broke.
The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,
The tother in Marie's quair,
And out o the tane there sprang a birk,
And out o the tother a brier.
And thae twa met, and thae twa plat,
The birk but and the brier,
And by that ye may very weel ken
They were twa lovers dear.
B
IT'S fifty miles to Sittingen's Rocks,
As eer was ridden or gane;
And Earl Robert has wedded a wife,
But he dare na bring her hame.
And Earl Robert has wedded a wife,
But he dare na bring her hame.
His mother, she called to her waiting-maid,
To bring her a pint o wine:
'For I dinna weel ken what hour of the day
That my son Earl Robert shall dine.'
She's put it to her fause, fause cheek,
But an her fause, fause chin;
She's put it to her fause, fause lips,
But never a drap went in.
But he's put it to his bonny cheek,
Aye and his bonny chin;
He's put it to his red rosy lips,
And the poison went merrily doun.
'O where will I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoon,
That will gang quickly to Sittingen's Rocks,
And bid my lady come?'
It's out then speaks a bonny boy,
To Earl Robert was something akin:
'Many a time have I ran thy errand,
But this day wi the tears I'll rin.'
Bat when he came to Sittingin's Rocks,
To the middle of a' the ha,
There were bells a ringing, and music playing,
And ladies dancing a'.
'What news, what news, my bonny boy?
What news have ye to me?
Is Earl Robert in very good health,
And the ladies of your countrie?'
'O Earl Robert's in very good health,
And as weel as a man can be;
But his mother this night has a drink to be druken,
And at it you must be.'
She called to her waiting-maid,
To bring her a riding-weed,
And she called to her stable-groom,
To saddle her milk-white steed,
But when she came to Earl Robert's bouir,
To the middle of a' the ha,
There were bells a ringing, and sheets doun hinging,
And ladies mourning a'.
'I've come for none of his gold,' she said,
'Nor none of his white monie,
Excepting a ring of his smallest finger,
If that you will grant me.'
'Thou'll not get none of his gold,' she said,
'Nor none of his white monie;
Thou'll not get a ring of his smallest finger,
Tho thy heart should break in three.'
She set her foot unto a stane,
Her back unto a tree;
She set her foot unto a stane,
And her heart did break in three.
The one was buried in Mary's kirk,
The other in Mary's quire;
Out of the one there grew a birk,
From the other a bonnie brier.
And these twa grew, and these twa threw,
Till their twa craps drew near;
So all the warld may plainly see
That they loved each other dear.
C
LORD ROBERT and Mary Florence,
They were twa children young;
They were scarse seven years of age
Till love began to spring.
Lord Robert loved Mary Florence,
And she lovd him above power;
But he durst not for his cruel mother
Bring her unto his bower.
It was nineteen miles to Strawberry Castle,
As good as ever was rode or gane,
But the lord being light, and the steed being swift,
Lord Robert was hame gin noon.
'A blessing, a blessing, dear mother,' he cries,
'A blessing I do crave!'
'A blessing, a blessing, my son Lord Robert,
And a blessing thou shalt have.'
She called on her chamber-maid
To fill up a glass of wine,
And so clever was her cursed fingers
To put the rank poison in.
'O wae be to you, mother dear,' he cries,
'For working such a wae;
For poisoning of your son Lord Robert,
And children you have nae mae.
'O where will I get a pretty little boy
That'll rin him my errands sune?
That will rin unto Strawberry Castle,
And tell Mary Florence to cum?'
'Here am I, a pretty little boy,
Your eldest sister's son,
That will rin unto Strawberry Castle,
And tell Mary Florence to come.'
When he came unto Strawberry Castle
He tirled at the pin,
And so ready was Mary Florence hersell
To open and let him in.
'What news, what news, my pretty little boy?
What news hast thou brocht here?'
With sichin and sabbin and wringing his hands,
No message he could refer.
'The news that I have gotten,' he says,
'I cannot weel declair;
But my grandmother has prepard a feast,
And fain she would hae thee thair.'
She called on her stable-groom
To dress her swiftest steed;
For she knew very weel by this pretty little boy
That Lord Robert was dead.
And when she came to Knotingale Castle
She tirled at the pin,
And so ready was Lord Robert's mother
To open and let her in.
'What news, what news, Mary Florence?' she says,
'What news has thou to me?'
'I came to see your son Lord Robert,
And fain would I him see.
'I came not for his gude red gold,
Nor for his white monie,
But for the ring on his wee finger,
And fain would I it see.'
'That ring thou cannot see, Mary Florence,
That ring thou'll never see;
For death was so strong in Lord Robert's breast
That the gold ring burst in three.'
She has set her foot unto a stone,
Her back unto a tree;
Before she left Knotingale Castle
Her heart it brak in three.
D
PRINCE ROBERT he has wedded a wife,
An he daurna bring her hame;
The queen . . . .
His mither was much to blame.
- * * * *
'It is the fashion in oor countrie, mither,
I dinna ken what it is here,
To like your wife better than your mither,
That . . . bought you sae dear.'
She called upon her best marie,
An tippet her wi a ring,
To bring to her the rank poison,
To gie Prince Robert a dram.
She put it to her cheek, her cheek,
She put it to her chin;
She put it to her fause, fause lips,
But neer a drap gaed in.
She put it to his cheek, his cheek,
She put it to his chin;
She put it to his rosy lips,
An the rank poison gaed in.
'Whare will I get a bonnie boy,
Wha will win meat an fee,
Wha will rin on to . . . bower,
Bring my gude ladie to me?'
'Here am I, a bonnie boy,
Willin to win meat an fee,
Wha will rin on to . . . bower,
An bring your gude ladie.'
'Whan you come to broken brig,
Tak aff your coat an swim;
An whan you come to grass growin,
Tak aff your shoon an rin.'
An whan he cam to broken brig,
He coost his coat an swam,
An whan he cam to grass growin,
Set doon his feet an ran.
An whan he cam to the ladie's bower,
He fand her a' her lane,
. . . . .
. . . . .
- * * * *
An syne she kissed his wan, wan lips,
. . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . .