"Muckle can a woman do, ye canna do for me.-- Lay about, steer about, lay our ship cannie, 21 Do all you can to save my dear Annie."
"I've laid about, steer'd about, laid about cannie, But all I can do, she winna sail for me.
Ye'll tak her in your arms twa, lo, lift her cannie, 25 And throw her out owre board, your ain dear Annie."
He has tane her in his arms twa, lo, lifted her cannie, He has thrown her out owre board, his ain dear Annie: As the ship sailed, bonnie Annie she swam, And she was at Ireland as soon as them. 30
They made his love a coffin of the gowd sae yellow, And they buried her deep on the high banks of Yarrow.[L32]
32. The last two lines are derived from Motherwell, p. xcix.
The text in Kinloch is corrupt, and stands thus:--
He made his love a coffin off the Goats of Yerrow, And buried his bonnie love doun in a sea valley.
From Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 156.
"My name is William Guiseman, In London I do dwell; I have committed murder, And that is known right well; I have committed murder, 5 And that is known right well, And it's for mine offence I must die.
"I lov'd a neighbour's dochter, And with her I did lie; I did dissemble with her 10 Myself to satisfy; I did dissemble with her Myself to satisfy, And it's for mine offence I must die.
"Sae cunningly's I kept her, 15 Until the fields war toom; Sae cunningly's I trysted her Unto yon shade o' broom; And syne I took my wills o' her, And then I flang her doun, 20 And it's for mine offence I must die.
"Sae cunningly's I killed her, Who should have been my wife; Sae cursedly's I killed her, And with my cursed knife; 25 Sae cursedly's I killed her, Who should have been my wife, And it's for mine offence I must die.
"Six days she lay in murder, Before that she was found; 30 Six days she lay in murder, Upon the cursed ground; Six days she lay in murder, Before that she was found, And it's for mine offence I must die. 35
"O all the neighbours round about, They said it had been I; I put my foot on gude shipboard, The county to defy; The ship she wadna sail again, 40 But hoisted to and fro, And it's for mine offence I must die.
"O up bespak the skipper-boy, I wat he spak too high; 'There's sinful men amongst us, 45 The seas will not obey;'
O up bespak the skipper-boy, I wat he spak too high, And it's for mine offence I must die.
"O we cuist cavels us amang, 50 The cavel fell on me; O we cuist cavels us amang, The cavel fell on me; O we cuist cavels us amang, The cavel fell on me, 55 And it's for mine offence I must die.
"I had a loving mother Who of me took gret care; She wad hae gien the gold sae red, To have bought me from that snare; 60 But the gold could not be granted, The gallows pays a share, And it's for mine offence I must die."
THE ENCHANTED RING
Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 169. Annexed is a fragment published by Jamieson, under the title of _Bonny Bee-Ho'm_.
In Lauderdale I chanc'd to walk, And heard a lady's moan, Lamenting for her dearest dear, And aye she cried, ohon!
"Sure never a maid that e'er drew breath 5 Had harder fate than me; I'd never a lad but one on earth, They forc'd him to the sea.
"The ale shall ne'er be brewin o' malt, Neither by sea nor land, 10 That ever mair shall cross my hause, Till my love comes to hand.
A handsome lad wi' shoulders broad, Gold yellow was his hair; None of our Scottish youths on earth 15 That with him could compare.
She thought her love was gone to sea, And landed in Bahome; But he was in a quiet chamber, Hearing his lady's moan. 20
"Why make ye all this moan, lady?
Why make ye all this moan?
For I'm deep sworn on a book, I must go to Bahome.
"Traitors false for to subdue, 25 O'er seas I'll make me boun', That have trepan'd our kind Scotchmen, Like dogs to ding them down."
"Weell, take this ring, this royal thing, Whose virtue is unknown; 30 As lang's this ring's your body on, Your blood shall ne'er be drawn.
"But if this ring shall fade or stain, Or change to other hue, Come never mair to fair Scotland, 35 If ye're a lover true."
Then this couple they did part With a sad heavy moan; The wind was fair, the ship was rare, They landed in Bahome. 40
But in that place they had not been A month but barely one, Till he look'd on his gay gold ring,[L43]
And riven was the stone.
Time after this was not expir'd 45 A month but scarcely three, Till black and ugly was the ring, And the stone was burst in three.[L48]
"Fight on, fight on, you merry men all, With you I'll fight no more; 50 I will gang to some holy place, Pray to the King of Glore."
Then to the chapel he is gone, And knelt most piteouslie, For seven days and seven nights, 55 Till blood ran frae his knee.
"Ye'll take my jewels that's in Bahome, And deal them liberallie, To young that cannot, and old that mannot, The blind that does not see. 60
"Give maist to women in child-bed laid, Can neither fecht nor flee: I hope she's in the heavens high, That died for love of me."
The knights they wrang their white fingers, 65 The ladies tore their hair; The women that ne'er had children born, In swoon they down fell there.
But in what way the knight expir'd, No tongue will e'er declare; 70 So this doth end my mournful song, From me ye'll get nae mair.
43, they look'd.
48, And stone.
Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_, i. 184, from Mrs. Brown's MS., the interpolations of the editor being omitted.