From Richardson's _Borderer's Table-Book_, viii. 410.
The lord said to his ladie, As he mounted his horse, "Beware of Long Lonkin That lies in the moss."
The lord said to his ladie, 5 As he rode away, "Beware of Long Lonkin That lies in the clay."
"What care I for Lonkin, Or any of his gang? 10 My doors are all shut And my windows penned in."
There are six little windows, And they were all shut, But one little window, 15 And that was forgot.
And at that little window Long Lonkin crept in.
"Where's the lord of the hall?"
Says the Lonkin; 20 "He's gone up to London,"
Says Orange to him.
"Where's the men of the hall?"
Says the Lonkin; "They're at the field ploughing," 25 Says Orange to him.
"Where's the maids of the hall?"
Says the Lonkin; "They're at the well washing,"
Says Orange to him. 30
"Where's the ladies of the hall?"
Says the Lonkin; "They're up in their chambers,"
Says Orange to him.
"How shall we get them down?" 35 Says the Lonkin; "Prick the babe in the cradle,"
Says Orange to him.
"Rock well my cradle, And bee-ba my son; 40 Ye shall have a new gown When the lord he comes home."
Still she did prick it, And bee-ba she cried; "Come down, dearest mistress, 45 And still your own child."
"O still my child, Orange, Still him with a bell;"
"I can't still him, ladie, Till you come down yoursell." 50
"Hold the gold basin, For your heart's blood to run in,"
"To hold the gold basin, It grieves me full sore; Oh kill me, dear Lonkin, 55 And let my mother go."
THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN. See p. 107.
"John Kincaid, Laird of Waristoun, (an estate situated between the city of Edinburgh and the sea, towards Leith,) was murdered, on the 2d of July, 1600, by a man named Robert Weir, who was employed to do so by his wife, Jean Livingstone, daughter of the Laird of Dunipace. The unfortunate woman, who thus became implicated in a crime so revolting to humanity, was only twenty-one years of age at the time. It is probable from some circumstances, that her husband was considerably older than herself, and also that their marriage was any thing but one of love. It is only alleged, however, that she was instigated to seek his death by resentment for some bad treatment on his part, and, in particular, for a bite which he had inflicted on her arm. There was something extraordinary in the deliberation with which this wretched woman approached the awful gulf of crime. Having resolved on the means to be employed in the murder, she sent for a quondam servant of her father, Robert Weir, who lived in the neighbouring city. He came to the place of Waristoun, to see her; but, for some unexplained reason was not admitted. She again sent for him, and he again went. Again he was not admitted. At length, on his being called a third time, he was introduced to her presence. Before this time she had found an accomplice in the nurse of her child. It was then arranged, that Weir should be concealed in a cellar till the dead of night, when he should come forth and proceed to destroy the laird as he lay in his chamber. The bloody tragedy was acted precisely in accordance with this plan. Weir was brought up, at midnight, from the cellar to the hall by the lady herself, and afterwards went forward alone to the laird's bedroom. As he proceeded to his bloody work, she retired to her bed, to wait the intelligence of her husband's murder. When Weir entered the chamber, Waristoun awoke with the noise, and leant inquiringly over the side of the bed. The murderer then leapt upon him; the unhappy man uttered a great cry; Weir gave him several dreadful blows on vital parts, particularly one on the flank vein. But as the laird was still able to cry out, he at length saw fit to take more effective measures: he seized him by the throat with both hands, and compressing that part with all his force, succeeded, after a few minutes, in depriving him of life.
When the lady heard her husband's first death-shout, she leapt out of bed, in an agony of mingled horror and repentance, and descended to the hall: but she made no effort to countermand her mission of destruction.
She waited patiently till Weir came down to inform her that all was over.
"Weir made an immediate escape from justice; but Lady Waristoun and the nurse were apprehended before the deed was half a day old. Being caught, as the Scottish law terms it, _red-hand_,--that is, while still bearing unequivocal marks of guilt, they were immediately tried by the magistrates of Edinburgh, and sentenced to be strangled and burnt at a stake. The lady's father, the Laird of Dunipace, was a favourite of King James VI., and he made all the interest he could with his majesty to procure a pardon; but all that could be obtained from the king, was an order that the unhappy lady should be executed by decapitation, and that at such an early hour in the morning as to make the affair as little of a spectacle as possible.
"The space intervening between her sentence and her execution was only thirty-seven hours; yet, in that little time, Lady Waristoun contrived to become converted from a blood-stained and unrelenting murderess into a perfect saint on earth. One of the then ministers of Edinburgh has left an account of her conversion, which was lately published, and would be extremely amusing, were it not for the disgust which seizes the mind on beholding such an instance of perverted religion. She went to the scaffold with a demeanour which would have graced a martyr. Her lips were incessant in the utterance of pious exclamations. She professed herself confident of everlasting happiness. She even grudged every moment which she spent in this world, as so much taken from that sum of eternal felicity which she was to enjoy in the next. The people who came to witness the last scene, instead of having their minds inspired with salutary horror for her crime, were engrossed in admiration of her saintly behaviour, and greedily gathered up every devout word which fell from her tongue. It would almost appear from the narrative of the clergyman, that her fate was rather a matter of envy than of any other feeling. Her execution took place at four in the morning of the 5th of July, at the Watergate, near Holyroodhouse; and at the same hour her nurse was burnt on the castle-hill. It is some gratification to know, that the actual murderer, Weir, was eventually seized and executed, though not till four years after."
CHAMBERS'S _Scottish Ballads_, p. 129.
From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 56.
My mother was an ill woman, In fifteen years she married me; I hadna wit to guide a man, Alas! ill counsel guided me.
O Warriston, O Warriston, 5 I wish that ye may sink for sin; I was but bare fifteen years auld, Whan first I enter'd your yates within.
I hadna been a month married, Till my gude lord went to the sea; 10 I bare a bairn ere he came hame, And set it on the nourice knee.
But it fell ance upon a day, That my gude lord return'd from sea; Then I did dress in the best array, 15 As blythe as ony bird on tree.
I took my young son in my arms, Likewise my nourice me forebye, And I went down to yon shore side, My gude lord's vessel I might spy. 20
My lord he stood upon the deck, I wyte he hail'd me courteouslie; "Ye are thrice welcome, my lady gay, Whase aught that bairn on your knee?"
She turn'd her right and round about, 25 Says, "Why take ye sic dreads o' me?
Alas! I was too young married, To love another man but thee."
"Now hold your tongue, my lady gay, Nae mair falsehoods ye'll tell to me; 30 This bonny bairn is not mine, You've loved another while I was on sea."
In discontent then hame she went, And aye the tear did blin' her e'e; Says, "Of this wretch I'll be revenged, 35 For these harsh words he's said to me."
She's counsell'd wi' her father's steward, What way she cou'd revenged be; Bad was the counsel then he gave,-- It was to gar her gude lord dee. 40
The nourice took the deed in hand, I wat she was well paid her fee; She kiest the knot, and the loop she ran, Which soon did gar this young lord dee.
His brother lay in a room hard by, 45 Alas! that night he slept too soun'; But then he waken'd wi a cry, "I fear my brother's putten down.
"O get me coal and candle light, And get me some gude companie;" 50 But before the light was brought, Warriston he was gart dee.
They've ta'en the lady and fause nourice, In prison strong they ha'e them boun'; The nourice she was hard o' heart, 55 But the bonny lady fell in swoon.
In it came her brother dear, And aye a sorry man was he; "I wou'd gie a' the lands I heir, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee." 60
"O borrow me brother, borrow me,-- O borrow'd shall I never be; For I gart kill my ain gude lord, And life is nae pleasure to me."