"I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faw, I'll go to bed to my dearie; 30 For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand, That my lord shall nae mair come near me.
"I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw, I'll mak a hap to my dearie; And he's get a' the coat gaes round, 35 And my lord shall nae mair come near me."
And when our lord came hame at e'en, And spier'd for his fair lady, The tane she cry'd, and the other replied, "She's away wi' the gypsie laddie." 40
"Gae saddle to me the black black steed, Gae saddle and make him ready; Before that I either eat or sleep, I'll gae seek my fair lady."
And we were fifteen weel-made men, 45 Altho' we were na bonny; And we were a' put down but ane, For a fair young wanton lady.
LAIRD OF DRUM.
From Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 200, obtained from recitation. Another copy is furnished by Buchan, _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 194, which, with some variations, is printed again in _Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads_, Percy Society, vol. xvii. p. 53.
"This ballad," says Kinloch, was composed on the marriage of Alexander Irvine of Drum to his second wife, Margaret Coutts, a woman of inferior birth and manners, which step gave great offence to his relations. He had previously, in 1643, married Mary, fourth daughter of George, second Marquis of Huntly.
The Laird o' Drum is a wooing gane, It was on a morning early, And he has fawn in wi' a bonnie may A-shearing at her barley.
"My bonnie may, my weel-faur'd may, 5 O will ye fancy me, O; And gae and be the lady o' Drum, And lat your shearing abee, O?"
"It's I canna fancy thee, kind sir, I winna fancy thee, O, 10 I winna gae and be Lady o' Drum, And lat my shearing abee, O.
"But set your love on anither, kind sir, Set it not on me, O, For I am not fit to be your bride, 15 And your hure I'll never be, O.
"My father he is a shepherd mean, Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O, And ye may gae and speir at him, For I am at his will, O." 20
Drum is to her father gane, Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O; And he has gotten his consent That the may was at his will, O.
"But my dochter can neither read nor write, 25 She was ne'er brought up at scheel, O; But weel can she milk cow and ewe, And mak a kebbuck weel, O.
"She'll win in your barn at bear-seed time, Cast out your muck at Yule, O, 30 She'll saddle your steed in time o' need, And draw aff your boots hersell, O."
"Have not I no clergymen?
Pay I no clergy fee, O?
I'll scheel her as I think fit, 35 And as I think weel to be, O.
"I'll learn your lassie to read and write, And I'll put her to the scheel, O; She'll neither need to saddle my steed, Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O. 40
"But wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale, O; And wha will welcome my bonnie bride, Is mair than I can tell, O."
Drum is to the hielands gane, 45 For to mak a' ready, And a' the gentry round about, Cried, "Yonder's Drum and his lady!
"Peggy Coutts is a very bonnie bride, And Drum is a wealthy laddie, 50 But he micht hae chosen a hier match, Than onie shepherd's lassie."
Then up bespak his brither John, Says, "Ye've deen us meikle wrang, O; Ye've married een below our degree, 55 A lake to a' our kin, O."
"Hold your tongue, my brither John, I have deen you na wrang, O; For I've married een to wirk and win, And ye've married een to spend, O. 60
"The first time that I had a wife, She was far abeen my degree, O; I durst na come in her presence, But wi' my hat upo' my knee, O.
"The first wife that I did wed, 65 She was far abeen my degree, O; She wadna hae walk'd to the yetts o' Drum, But the pearls abeen her bree, O.
"But an she was ador'd for as much gold, As Peggy's for beautie, O, 70 She micht walk to the yetts o' Drum, Amang gueed companie, O."
There war four and twenty gentlemen Stood at the yetts o' Drum, O; There was na ane amang them a' 75 That welcom'd his lady in, O.
He has tane her by the milk-white hand, And led her in himsel, O, And in thro' ha's, and in thro' bouers,-- "And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O." 80
Thrice he kissed her cherry cheek, And thrice her cherry chin, O; And twenty times her comely mou',-- "And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O.
"Ye sall be cook in my kitchen, 85 Butler in my ha', O; Ye sall be lady in my command, Whan I ride far awa, O."--
"But I told ye afore we war wed, I was owre low for thee, O; 90 But now we are wed, and in ae bed laid, And ye maun be content wi' me, O.
"For an I war dead, and ye war dead, And baith in ae grave laid, O, And ye and I war tane up again, 95 Wha could distan your mouls frae mine, O?"
LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.
The unhappy lady into whose mouth some unknown poet has put this lament, is now ascertained to have been Anne, daughter to Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney. Her faithless lover was her cousin, Alexander Erskine, son to the Earl of Mar. Lady Anne is said to have possessed great beauty, and Sir Alexander was reputed the handsomest man of his age. He was first a colonel in the French army, but afterwards engaged in the service of the Covenanters, and came to his death by being blown up, with many other persons of rank, in Douglass Castle, on the 30th of August, 1640. The events which occasioned the ballad seem to have taken place early in the seventeenth century. Of the fate of the lady subsequent to this period nothing is known. See Chambers, _Scottish Ballads_, p. 150, and _The Scots Musical Museum_, (1853,) iv. 203*.
In Brome's comedy of _The Northern Lass, or the Nest of Fools_, acted in 1632, occur the two following stanzas. They are, perhaps, a part of the original Lament, which certainly has undergone great alterations in its progress down to our times.
"Peace, wayward barne! Oh cease thy moan!
Thy farre more wayward daddy's gone, And never will recalled be, By cryes of either thee or me: For should wee cry Until we dye, Wee could not scant his cruelty.
_Ballow, ballow, &c._
"He needs might in himselfe foresee What thou successively might'st be; And could hee then (though me foregoe) His infant leave, ere hee did know How like the dad Would be the lad, In time to make fond maydens glad?
_Ballow, ballow, &c._"
The first professed edition of this piece is in the Third Part of Watson's _Collection of Comic and Serious Scots Poems_, p. 79; the next in the _Tea-Table Miscellany_, i. 161. Both of these copies have been modernized, but Ramsay's is the better of the two, and equally authentic. We therefore select Ramsay's, and add to it Percy's, which contains three stanzas not found in the others, and preserves somewhat more of the air of antiquity. There is a version extending to fifteen stanzas, arranged in a very different order, in Evans's _Old Ballads_, i. 259. Herd, Ritson, &c., have followed Ramsay.
Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep: If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad, Thy mourning makes my heart full sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy, 5 Thy father bred me great annoy.
_Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep_, _It grieves me sore to hear thee weep_.
Balow, my darling, sleep a while, And when thou wak'st, then sweetly smile; 10 But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids, nay, God forbid; For in thine eye his look I see, The tempting look that ruin'd me, _Balow, my boy, &c._ 15
When he began to court my love, And with his sugar'd words to move, His tempting face, and flatt'ring chear In time to me did not appear; But now I see that cruel he 20 Cares neither for his babe nor me.
_Balow, my boy, &c._
Fareweel, fareweel, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman's mouth; Let never any after me 25 Submit unto thy courtesy!
For, if they do, O! cruel thou Wilt her abuse, and care not how.