QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. Eleanor of Aquitaine was divorced from her first husband, Louis VII. of France, on account of misbehavior at Antioch, during the Second Crusade. Her conduct after her second marriage, with Henry II. of England, is agreed to have been irreproachable on the score of chastity. It is rather hard, therefore, that her reputation should be assailed as it is here; but if we complain of this injustice, what shall we say when we find, further on, the same story, with others even more ridiculous, told of the virtuous Eleanor of Castile, wife of Edward I.? See Peele's Chronicle History of Edward I., Dyce's ed. i. 185, 188, seq., and the ballad in vol. vii., 291. Both of these ballads are indeed pretty specimens of the historical value of popular traditions. The idea of the unlucky shrift is borrowed from some old story-teller. It occurs in the fabliau Du Chevalier qui fist sa Fame confesse, Barbazan, ed. MÉon, iii. 229, in Boccaccio G. vii. 5, Bandello, Malespini, &c.; also in La Fontaine's Le Mari Confesseur. The following ballad is from the Collection of 1723, vol. i. p. 18. There are several other versions: Percy's Reliques, ii. 165 (with corrections); Buchan's Gleanings, p. 77; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 1 (Earl Marshal, from recitation); Aytoun's Ballads of Scotland, new ed. i. 196; Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 247. From Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, 247. The Queen fell sick, and very, very sick, She was sick, and like to dee, And she sent for a friar oure frae France, Her cÓnfessour to be.
King Henry, when he heard o' that,5 An angry man was he; And he sent to the Earl Marshall, Attendance for to gie.
"The Queen is sick," King Henry cried, "And wants to be beshriven;10 She has sent for a friar oure frae France; By the rude, he were better in heaven!
"But tak you now a friar's guise, The voice and gesture feign, And when she has the pardon crav'd,15 Respond to her, Amen!
"And I will be a prelate old, And sit in a corner dark, To hear the adventures of my spouse, My spouse, and her holy spark."20
"My liege, my liege, how can I betray My mistress and my queen! O swear by the rude, that no damage From this shall be gotten or gien!"
"I swear by the rude," quoth King Henry,25 "No damage shall be gotten or gien, Come, let us spare no cure nor care For the conscience o' the Queen."
* * * * *
"O fathers, O fathers, I'm very, very sick, I'm sick, and like to dee;30 Some ghostly comfort to my poor soul O tell if ye can gie!"
"Confess, confess," Earl Marshall cried, "And ye shall pardoned be:" "Confess, confess," the King replied,35 "And we shall comfort gie."
"O how shall I tell the sorry, sorry tale! How can the tale be told! I play'd the harlot wi' the Earl Marshall Beneath yon cloth of gold.40
"O wasna that a sin, and a very great sin! But I hope it will pardoned be:" "Amen! Amen!" quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very fear't heart had he.
"O down i' the forest, in a bower,45 Beyond yon dark oak tree, I drew a penknife frae my pocket To kill King Henerie.
"O wasna that a sin, and a very great sin! But I hope it will pardoned be:"50 "Amen! Amen!" quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very fear't heart had he.
"O do you see yon pretty little boy, That's playing at the ba'? He is the Earl Marshall's only son,55 And I loved him best of a'.
"O wasna that a sin, and a very great sin! But I hope it will pardoned be:" "Amen! Amen!" quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very fear't heart had he.60
"And do you see yon pretty little girl, That's a' beclad in green? She's a friar's daughter, oure in France, And I hoped to see her a queen.
"O wasna that a sin, and a very great sin!65 But I hope it will pardoned be:" "Amen! Amen!" quoth the Earl Marshall, And a fear't heart still had he.
"O do you see yon other little boy, That's playing at the ba'?70 He is King Henry's only son, And I like him warst of a'.
"He's headed like a buck," she said, "And backed like a bear,"— "Amen!" quoth the King, in the King's ain voice,75 "He shall be my only heir."
The King look'd over his left shoulder, An angry man was he: "An it werna for the oath I sware, Earl Marshall, thou shouldst dee."80
AULD MAITLAND. From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, i. 306. "This ballad, notwithstanding its present appearance, has a claim to very high antiquity. It has been preserved by tradition; and is, perhaps, the most authentic instance of a long and very old poem, exclusively thus preserved. It is only known to a few old people upon the sequestered banks of the Ettrick, and is published, as written down from the recitation of the mother of Mr. James Hogg, who sings, or rather chants it, with great animation. She learned the ballad from a blind man, who died at the advanced age of ninety, and is said to have been possessed of much traditionary knowledge. Although the language of this poem is much modernized, yet many words, which the reciters have retained without understanding them, still preserve traces of its antiquity. Such are the words springals (corruptedly pronounced springwalls), sowies, portcullize, and many other appropriate terms of war and chivalry, which could never have been introduced by a modern ballad-maker[?]. The incidents are striking and well managed; and they are in strict conformity with the manners of the age in which they are placed. "The date of the ballad cannot be ascertained with any degree of accuracy. Sir Richard Maitland, the hero of the poem, seems to have been in possession of his estate about 1250; so that, as he survived the commencement of the wars betwixt England and Scotland, in 1296, his prowess against the English, in defence of his castle of Lauder or Thirlestane, must have been exerted during his extreme old age. "The castle of Thirlestane is situated upon the Leader, near the town of Lauder. Whether the present building, which was erected by Chancellor Maitland, and improved by the duke of Lauderdale, occupies the site of the ancient castle, I do not know; but it still merits the epithet of a "darksome house." I find no notice of the siege in history; but there is nothing improbable in supposing, that the castle, during the stormy period of the Baliol wars, may have held out against the English. The creation of a nephew of Edward I., for the pleasure of slaying him by the hand of young Maitland, is a poetical license;[1] and may induce us to place the date of the composition about the reign of David II., or of his successor, when the real exploits of Maitland and his sons were in some degree obscured, as well as magnified, by the lapse of time. The inveterate hatred against the English, founded upon the usurpation of Edward I., glows in every line of the ballad. "Auld Maitland is placed, by Gawain Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, among the popular heroes of romance, in his allegorical Palice of Honour. "I saw Raf Coilyear with his thrawin brow, Crabit John the Reif, and auld Cowkilbeis Sow; And how the wran cam out of Ailesay, And Piers Plowman, that meid his workmen fow: Gret Gowmacmorne, and Fin Mac Cowl, and how They suld be goddis in Ireland, as they say. Thair saw I Maitland upon auld beird gray, Robin Hude, and Gilbert with the quhite hand, How Hay of Nauchton flew in Madin land."
"It is a curious circumstance that this interesting tale, so often referred to by ancient authors, should be now recovered in so perfect a state; and many readers may be pleased to see the following sensible observations, made by a person born in Ettrick Forest, in the humble situation of a shepherd: 'I am surprised to hear that this song is suspected by some to be a modern forgery; the contrary will be best proved, by most of the old people, hereabouts, having a great part of it by heart. Many, indeed, are not aware of the manners of this country; till this present age, the poor illiterate people, in these glens, knew of no other entertainment, in the long winter nights, than repeating, and listening to, the feats of their ancestors, recorded in songs, which I believe to be handed down, from father to son, for many generations, although, no doubt, had a copy been taken, at the end of every fifty years, there must have been some difference, occasioned by the gradual change of language. I believe it is thus that many very ancient songs have been gradually modernized, to the common ear; while, to the connoisseur, they present marks of their genuine antiquity.'—Letter to the Editor, from Mr. James Hogg. [June 30, 1801.] To the observations of my ingenious correspondent I have nothing to add, but that, in this, and a thousand other instances, they accurately coincide with my personal knowledge."—Scott. Notwithstanding the authority of Scott and Leyden, I am inclined to agree with Mr. Aytoun, (Ballads of Scotland, ii. 1,) that this ballad is a modern imitation, or if not that, a comparatively recent composition. It is with reluctance that I make for it the room it requires. There lived a king in southern land, King Edward hight his name; Unwordily he wore the crown, Till fifty years were gane.
He had a sister's son o's ain,5 Was large of blood and bane; And afterward, when he came up, Young Edward hight his name.
One day he came before the king, And kneel'd low on his knee—10 "A boon, a boon, my good uncle, I crave to ask of thee!
"At our lang wars, in fair Scotland, I fain hae wish'd to be; If fifteen hundred waled wight men15 You'll grant to ride wi' me."
"Thou sall hae thae, thou sall hae mae; I say it sickerlie; And I mysell, an auld gray man, Array'd your host sall see."20
King Edward rade, King Edward ran— I wish him dool and pyne! Till he had fifteen hundred men Assembled on the Tyne.
They lighted on the banks of Tweed, And blew their coals sae het,30 And fired the Merse and Teviotdale, All in an evening late.
As they fared up o'er Lammermore, They burn'd baith up and down, Until they came to a darksome house,35 Some call it Leader-Town.
"Wha hauds this house?" young Edward cry'd, "Or wha gies't ower to me?" A gray-hair'd knight set up his head, And crackit richt crousely:40
"Of Scotland's king I haud my house; He pays me meat and fee; And I will keep my guid auld house, While my house will keep me."
They laid their sowies to the wall,45 Wi' mony a heavy peal; But he threw ower to them agen Baith pitch and tar barrel.
With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn, Amang them fast he threw;50 Till mony of the Englishmen About the wall he slew.
Full fifteen days that braid host lay, Sieging Auld Maitland keen; Syne they hae left him, hail and feir,55 Within his strength of stane.
Then fifteen barks, all gaily good, Met them upon a day, Which they did lade with as much spoil As they could bear away.60
"England's our ain by heritage; And what can us withstand, Now we hae conquer'd fair Scotland, With buckler, bow, and brand?"
Then they are on to the land o' France,65 Where auld King Edward lay, Burning baith castle, tower, and town, That he met in his way.
Until he came unto that town, Which some call Billop-Grace;70 There were Auld Maitland's sons, a' three, Learning at school, alas!
"For Scotland's conquer'd up and down; Landmen we'll never be: Now, will you go, my brethren two, And try some jeopardy?"80
Then they hae saddled twa black horse, Twa black horse and a gray; And they are on to King Edward's host, Before the dawn of day.
When they arrived before the host,85 They hover'd on the lay— "Wilt thou lend me our king's standard, To bear a little way?"
"Where wast thou bred? where wast thou born? Where, or in what countrie?"90 "In north of England I was born:" (It needed him to lie.)
"A knight me gat, a lady bore, I am a squire of high renowne; I well may bear't to any king,95 That ever yet wore crowne."
"He ne'er came of an Englishman, Had sic an ee or bree; But thou art the likest Auld Maitland, That ever I did see.100
"But sic a gloom on ae browhead, Grant I ne'er see again! For mony of our men he slew, And mony put to pain."
When Maitland heard his father's name,105 An angry man was he! Then, lifting up a gilt dagger, Hung low down by his knee,
He stabb'd the knight the standard bore, He stabb'd him cruellie;110 Then caught the standard by the neuk, And fast away rode he.
"Now, is't na time, brothers," he cried, "Now, is't na time to flee?" "Ay, by my sooth!" they baith replied,115 "We'll bear you company."
The youngest turn'd him in a path, And drew a burnish'd brand, And fifteen of the foremost slew, Till back the lave did stand.120
He spurr'd the gray into the path, Till baith his sides they bled— "Gray! thou maun carry me away, Or my life lies in wad!"
The captain lookit ower the wa',125 About the break o' day; There he beheld the three Scots lads, Pursued along the way.
"Pull up portcullize! down draw-brigg! My nephews are at hand;130 And they sall lodge wi' me to-night, In spite of all England."
Whene'er they came within the yate, They thrust their horse them frae, And took three lang spears in their hands,135 Saying, "Here sall come nae mae!"
And they shot out, and they shot in, Till it was fairly day; When mony of the Englishmen About the draw-brigg lay.140
Then they hae yoked carts and wains, To ca' their dead away, And shot auld dykes abune the lave, In gutters where they lay.
The king, at his pavilion door,145 Was heard aloud to say, "Last night, three o' the lads o' France My standard stole away.
"Wi' a fause tale, disguised, they came, And wi' a fauser trayne;150 And to regain my gaye standard, These men were a' down slayne."
"It ill befits," the youngest said, "A crowned king to lie; But, or that I taste meat and drink,155 Reproved sall he be."
He went before King Edward straight, And kneel'd low on his knee; "I wad hae leave, my lord," he said, "To speak a word wi' thee."160
The king he turn'd him round about, And wistna what to say— Quo' he, "Man, thou's hae leave to speak, Though thou should speak a' day."
"Ye said that three young lads o' France165 Your standard stole away, Wi' a fause tale, and a fauser trayne, And mony men did slay.
"But we are nane the lads o' France, Nor e'er pretend to be;170 We are three lads o' fair Scotland, Auld Maitland's sons are we;
"Nor is there men, in a' your host, Daur fight us three to three." "Now, by my sooth," young Edward said,175 "Weel fitted ye sall be!
"Piercy sall with the eldest fight, And Ethert Lunn wi' thee: William of Lancaster the third, And bring your fourth to me!"180
He clanked Piercy ower the head,185 A deep wound and a sair, Till the best blood o' his bodie Came rinning down his hair.
"Now, I've slayne ane; slay ye the twa; And that's gude companye;190 And if the twa suld slay ye baith, Ye'se get na help frae me."
But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear, Had many battles seen; He set the youngest wonder sair,195 Till the eldest he grew keen.
"I am nae king, nor nae sic thing: My word it shanna stand! For Ethert sall a buffet bide, Come he beneath my brand."200
He clankit Ethert ower the head, A deep wound and a sair, Till the best blood of his bodie Came rinning ower his hair.
"Now I've slayne twa; slaye ye the ane;205 Isna that gude companye? And tho' the ane suld slaye ye baith, Ye'se get nae help o' me."
The twa-some they hae slayne the ane; They maul'd him cruellie;210 Then hung them over the draw-brigg, That all the host might see.
They rade their horse, they ran their horse, Then hover'd on the lee: "We be three lads o' fair Scotland,215 That fain would fighting see."
This boasting when young Edward heard, An angry man was he: "I'll tak yon lad, I'll bind yon lad, And bring him bound to thee!"220
"Now God forbid," King Edward said, "That ever thou suld try! Three worthy leaders we hae lost, And thou the fourth wad lie.
"If thou shouldst hang on yon draw-brigg, Blythe wad I never be:" But, wi' the poll-axe in his hand, Upon the brigg sprang he.
The first stroke that young Edward gae, He struck wi' might and mayn;230 He clove the Maitland's helmet stout, And bit right nigh the brayn.
When Maitland saw his ain blood fa', An angry man was he: He let his weapon frae him fa',235 And at his throat did flee.
And thrice about he did him swing, Till on the grund he light, Where he has halden young Edward, Tho' he was great in might.240
"Now let him up," King Edward cried, "And let him come to me: And for the deed that thou hast done, Thou shalt hae erldomes three."
He pierced him through and through the heart, He maul'd him cruellie;250 Then hung him ower the draw-brigg, Beside the other three.
"Now take frae me that feather-bed, Make me a bed o' strae! I wish I hadna lived this day,255 To mak my heart sae wae.
"If I were ance at London Tower, Where I was wont to be, I never mair suld gang frae hame, Till borne on a bier-tree."260
25. North-Berwick, according to some reciters.—S.27, 28. These two lines have been inserted by Mr. Hogg, to complete the verse. Dunbar, the fortress of Patrick, Earl of March, was too often opened to the English, by the treachery of that baron, during the reign of Edward I.—S.70. If this be a Flemish or Scottish corruption for Ville de Grace, in Normandy, that town was never besieged by Edward I., whose wars in France were confined to the province of Gascony. The rapid change of scene, from Scotland to France, excites a suspicion that some verses may have been lost in this place.—S.75. Edward had quartered the arms of Scotland with his own.—S.181, 182, supplied by Hogg.247. Some reciters repeat it thus:— "That Englishman lay under me,"
which is in the true spirit of Blind Harry, who makes Wallace say, "I better like to see the Southeron die, Than gold or land, that they can gie to me."—S.
WILLIE WALLACE. After the battle of Roslin, we are informed by Bower, the continuator of Fordun's Scotichronicon, Wallace took ship for France, and various songs, both in that kingdom and in Scotland, he goes on to say, bear witness to the courage with which he encountered the attacks of pirates on the ocean, and of the English on the continent. Whatever we may think of Wallace's expedition to France, there can be no doubt that the hero's exploits were at an early date celebrated in popular song. Still, the ballads which are preserved relate to only one of Wallace's adventures, and are of doubtful antiquity. Burns communicated to Johnson's Museum (p. 498) a defective ballad called Gude Wallace. A better copy of this, from tradition, is here given. It is taken from Buchan's Gleanings (p. 114), and was derived by the editor from a wandering gipsy tinker. Mr. Laing has inserted in the notes to the new edition of Johnson's Museum (iv. 458*) what may perhaps be the original of both these recited ballads, though inferior to either. This copy appeared in a chap-book with some Jacobite ballads, about the year 1750. There are two other versions of this same story, in which Wallace's mistress is induced to betray him to the English, but repents in time to save her lover. The best of these is annexed to the present ballad. The other, which is but a fragment, is printed in Buchan's larger collection, ii. 226, Wallace and his Leman. The principal incidents of this story are to be found in the Fifth Book of Blind Harry's Metrical Life of Wallace. Jamieson, in Popular Ballads, ii. 166, and Cunningham, in The Songs of Scotland, i. 262, have taken the stanzas in Johnson's Museum as the basis of ballads of their own. Wallace in the high highlans, Neither meat nor drink got he; Said, "Fa' me life, or fa' me death, Now to some town I maun be."
He's put on his short claiding,5 And on his short claiding put he; Says, "Fa' me life, or fa' me death, Now to Perth-town I maun be."
He stepped o'er the river Tay, I wat he stepped on dry land;10 He wasna aware of a well-fared maid Was washing there her lilie hands.
"What news, what news, ye well-fared maid? What news hae ye this day to me?" "No news, no news, ye gentle knight,15 No news hae I this day to thee, But fifteen lords in the hostage house Waiting Wallace for to see."
"If I had but in my pocket The worth of one single pennie,20 I would go to the hostage house, And there the gentlemen to see."
She put her hand in her pocket, And she has pull'd out half-a-crown; Says, "Take ye that, ye belted knight,25 'Twill pay your way till ye come down."
As he went from the well-fared maid, A beggar bold I wat met he, Was cover'd wi' a clouted cloak, And in his hand a trusty tree.30
"What news, what news, ye silly auld man? What news hae ye this day to gie?" "No news, no news, ye belted knight, No news hae I this day to thee, But fifteen lords in the hostage house35 Waiting Wallace for to see."
"Ye'll lend me your clouted cloak, That covers you frae head to shie, And I'll go to the hostage house, Asking there for some supplie."40
Now he's gone to the West-muir wood, And there he's pull'd a trusty tree; And then he's on to the hostage gone, Asking there for charitie.
Down the stair the captain comes,45 Aye the poor man for to see: "If ye be a captain as good as ye look, Ye'll give a poor man some supplie; If ye be a captain as good as ye look, A guinea this day ye'll gie to me."50
"Where were ye born, ye crooked carle? Where were ye born, in what countrie?" "In fair Scotland I was born, Crooked carle that I be."
"I would give you fifty pounds,55 Of gold and white monie, I would give you fifty pounds, If the traitor Wallace ye'd let me see."
"Tell down your money," said Willie Wallace, "Tell down your money, if it be good;60 I'm sure I have it in my power, And never had a better bode.
"Tell down your money, if it be good, And let me see if it be fine; I'm sure I have it in my power65 To bring the traitor Wallace in."
The money was told on the table, Silver bright of pounds fiftie: "Now here I stand," said Willie Wallace, "And what hae ye to say to me?"70
He slew the captain where he stood, The rest they did quack an' roar; He slew the rest around the room, And ask'd if there were any more.
"Come, cover the table," said Willie Wallace,75 "Come, cover the table now, make haste; For it will soon be three lang days Sin I a bit o' meat did taste."
The table was not well covered, Nor yet was he set down to dine,80 Till fifteen more of the English lords Surrounded the house where he was in.
The guidwife she ran but the floor, And aye the guidman he ran ben; From eight o'clock till four at noon85 He had kill'd full thirty men.
He put the house in sic a swither That five o' them he sticket dead, Five o' them he drown'd in the river, And five hung in the West-muir wood.90
Now he is on to the North-Inch gone, Where the maid was washing tenderlie; "Now by my sooth," said Willie Wallace, "It's been a sair day's wark to me."
He's put his hand in his pocket,95 And he has pull'd out twenty pounds; Says, "Take ye that, ye weel-fared maid For the gude luck of your half-crown."
91. A beautiful plain, or common, lying along the Tay near Perth.—Chambers.
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. From The Thistle of Scotland, p. 100. The editor states that he took the ballad down from the recitation of an old gentlewoman in Aberdeenshire. Wou'd ye hear of William Wallace, An' sek him as he goes, Into the lan' of Lanark, Amang his mortel faes?
There was fyften English sogers5 Unto his ladie cam, Said "Gie us William Wallace, That we may have him slain.
"Wou'd ye gie William Wallace, That we may have him slain,10 And ye's be wedded to a lord, The best in Christendeem."
"This verra nicht at seven, Brave Wallace will come in, And he'll come to my chamber door,15 Without or dread or din."
The fyften English sogers Around the house did wait, And four brave Southron foragers, Stood hie upon the gait.20
That verra nicht at seven Brave Wallace he came in, And he came to his ladies bouir, Withouten dread or din.
When she beheld him Wallace,25 She star'd him in the face; "Ohon, alas!" said that ladie, "This is a woful case.
"For I this nicht have sold you, This nicht you must be taen,30 And I'm to be wedded to a lord, The best in Christendeem."
"Do you repent," said Wallace, "The ill you've dane to me?" "Ay, that I do," said that ladie,35 "And will do till I die.
"Ay, that I do," said that ladie, "And will do ever still, And for the ill I've dane to you, Let me burn upon a hill."40
"Now God forfend," says brave Wallace, "I shou'd be so unkind; Whatever I am to Scotland's faes, I'm aye a woman's friend.
"Will ye gie me your gown, your gown,45 Your gown but and your kirtle, Your petticoat of bonny brown, And belt about my middle?
"I'll take a pitcher in ilka hand, And do me to the well,50 They'll think I'm one of your maidens, Or think it is your sell."
She has gien him her gown, her gown, Her petticoat and kirtle, Her broadest belt wi' silver clasp,55 To bind about his middle.
He's taen a pitcher in ilka hand, And dane him to the well, They thought him one of her maidens, They ken'd it was nae hersell.60
Said one of the Southron foragers, "See ye yon lusty dame? I wou'd nae gie muckle to thee, neebor, To bring her back agen."
Then all the Southrons follow'd him,65 And sure they were but four; But he has drawn his trusty brand, And slew them pair by pair.
He threw the pitchers frae his hands, And to the hills fled he,70 Until he cam to a fair may, Was washin' on yon lea.
"What news, what news, ye weel far'd may? What news hae ye to gie?" "Ill news, ill news," the fair may said,75 "Ill news I hae to thee.
"There is fyften English sogers Into that thatched inn, Seeking Sir William Wallace; I fear that he is slain."80
"Have ye any money in your pocket? Pray lend it unto me, And when I come this way again, Repaid ye weel shall be."
She['s] put her hand in her pocket,85 And taen out shillings three; He turn'd him right and round about, And thank'd the weel far'd may.
He had not gone a long rig length, A rig length and a span,90 Until he met a bold beggar, As sturdy as cou'd gang.
"What news, what news, ye bold beggar? What news hae ye to gie?" "O heavy news," the beggar said,95 "I hae to tell to thee.
"There is fyften English sogers, I heard them in yon inn, Vowing to kill him Wallace; I fear the chief is slain."100
"Will ye change apparell wi' me, auld man? Change your apparell for mine? And when I come this way again, Ye'll be my ain poor man."
When he got on the beggar's coat,105 The pike staff in his hand, He's dane him down to yon tavern, Where they were drinking wine.
"What news, what news, ye staff beggar? What news hae ye to gie?"110 "I hae nae news, I heard nae news, As few I'll hae frae thee."
"I think your coat is ragged, auld man, But wou'd you wages win, And tell where William Wallace is,115 We'll lay gold in your hand."
"Tell down, tell down your good red gold, Upon the table head, And ye sall William Wallace see, Wi' the down-come of Robin Hood."120
They had nae tauld the money down, And laid it on his knee, When candles, lamps, and candlesticks, He on the floor gar'd flee.
And he has drawn his trusty brand,125 And slew them one by one, Then sat down at the table head, And callÈd for some wine.
The goodwife she ran but, ran but, The goodman he ran ben,130 The verra bairns about the fire Were a' like to gang brain.
"Now if there be a Scotsman here, He'll come and drink wi' me; And if there be an English loun,135 It is his time to flee."
The goodman was an Englishman, And to the hills he ran, The goodwife was a Scots woman, And she came to his hand.140
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