The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 2/Chapter 43

A
There was a knight and a lady bright, Had a true tryste at the broom; The ane gaed early in the morning, The other in the afternoon. And ay she sat in her mother’s bower door, And ay she made her mane: ‘O whether should I gang to the Broomfield Hill, Or should I stay at hame? ‘For if I gang to the Broomfield Hill, My maidenhead is gone; And if I chance to stay at hame, My love will ca me mansworn.’ Up then spake a witch-woman, Ay from the room aboon: ‘O ye may gang to the broomfield Hill, And yet come maiden hame. ‘For when ye gang to the Broomfield Hill, Ye’ll find your love asleep, With a silver belt about his head, And a broom-cow at his feet. ‘Take ye the blossom of the broom, The blossom it smells sweet, And strew it at your true-love’s head, And likewise at his feet. ‘Take ye the rings off your fingers, Put them on his right hand, To let him know, when he doth awake, His love was at his command.’ She pu’d the broom flower on Hive Hill, And strewd on’s white hals-bane, And that was to be wittering true That maiden she had gane. ‘O where were ye, my milk-white steed, That I hae coft sae dear, That wadna watch and waken me When there was maiden here?’ ‘I stamped wi my foot, master, And gard my bridle ring, But na kin thing wald waken ye, Till she was past and gane.’ ‘And wae betide ye, my gay goss-hawk, That I did love sae dear, That wadna watch and waken me When there was maiden here.’ ‘I clapped wi my wings, master, And aye my bells I rang, And aye cry’d, Waken, waken, master, Before the ladye gang.’ ‘But haste and haste, my gude white steed, To come the maiden till, Or a’ the birds of gude green wood Of your flesh shall have their fill.’ ‘Ye need na burst your gude white steed Wi racing oer the howm; Nae bird flies faster through the wood, Than she fled through the broom.’

B
‘I'LL wager, I’ll wager, I’ll wager with you Five hundred merks and ten, That a maid shanae go to yon bonny green wood, And a maiden return agen.’ ‘I’ll wager, I’ll wager, I’ll wager with you Five hundred merks and ten, That a maid shall go to yon bonny green wood, And a maiden return agen.’ * * * * * She’s pu’d the blooms aff the broom-bush, And strewd them on’s white hass-bane: ‘This is a sign whereby you may know That a maiden was here, but she’s gane.’ ‘O where was you, my good gray steed, That I hae loed sae dear? O why did you not awaken me When my true love was here?’ ‘I stamped with my foot, master, And gard my bridle ring, But you wadnae waken from your sleep Till your love was past and gane.’ ‘Now I may sing as dreary a sang As the bird sung on the brier, For my true love is far removd, And I’ll neer see her mair.’

C
THERE was a knight and lady bright Set trysts amo the broom, The one to come at morning ear, The other at afternoon. ‘I’ll wager a wager wi you,’ he said, ‘An hundred merks and ten, That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills, Return a maiden again.’ ‘I’ll wager a wager wi you,’ she said, ‘A hundred pounds and ten, That I will gang to Broomfield Hills, A maiden return again.’ The lady stands in her bower door, And thus she made her mane: ‘O shall I gang to Broomfield Hills, Or shall I stay at hame? ‘If I do gang to Broomfield Hills, A maid I’ll not return; But if I stay from Broomfield Hills, I’ll be a maid mis-sworn.’ Then out it speaks an auld witch-wife, Sat in the bower aboon: ‘O ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills, Ye shall not stay at hame. ‘But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills, Walk nine times round and round; Down below a bonny burn bank, Ye’ll find your love sleeping sound. ‘Ye’ll pu the bloom frae aff the broom, Strew’t at his head and feet, And aye the thicker that ye do strew, The sounder he will sleep. ‘The broach that is on your napkin, Put it on his breast bane, To let him know, when he does wake, That’s true love’s come and gane. ‘The rings that are on your fingers, Lay them down on a stane, To let him know, when he does wake, That’s true love’s come and gane. ‘And when ye hae your work all done, Ye’ll gang to a bush o’ broom, And then you’ll hear what he will say, When he sees ye are gane.’ When she came to Broomfield Hills, She walkd it nine times round, And down below yon burn bank, She found him sleeping sound. She pu’d the bloom frae aff the broom, Strew’d it at ’s head and feet, And aye the thicker that she strewd, The sounder he did sleep. The broach that was on her napkin, She put on his breast bane, To let him know, when he did wake, His love was come and gane. The rings that were on her fingers, She laid upon a stane, To let him know, when he did wake, His love was come and gane. Now when she had her work all dune, She went to a bush o broom, That she might hear what he did say, When he saw she was gane. ‘O where were ye, my guid grey hound, That I paid for sae dear, Ye didna waken me frae my sleep When my true love was sae near?’ ‘I scraped wi my foot, master, Till a’ my collars rang, But still the mair that I did scrape, Waken woud ye nane.’ ‘Where were ye, my berry-brown steed, That I paid for sae dear, That ye woudna waken me out o my sleep When my love was sae near?’ ‘I patted wi my foot, master, Till a’ my bridles rang, But still the mair that I did patt, Waken woud ye nane.’ ‘O where were ye, my gay goss-hawk, That I paid for sae dear, That ye woudna waken me out o my sleep When ye sae my love near?’ ‘I flapped wi my wings, master, Till a’ my bells they rang, But still the mair that I did flap, Waken woud ye nane.’ ‘O where were ye, my merry young men, That I pay meat and fee, Ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep When my love ye did see?’ ‘Ye’ll sleep mair on the night, master, And wake mair on the day; Gae sooner down to Broomfield Hills When ye’ve sic pranks to play. ‘If I had seen any armed men Come riding over the hill-+- But I saw but a fair lady Come quietly you until.’ ‘O wae mat worth you, my young men, That I pay meat and fee, That ye woudna waken me frae sleep When ye my love did see. ‘O had I waked when she was nigh, And o her got my will, I shoudna cared upon the morn Tho sma birds o her were fill.’ When she went out, right bitter wept, But singing came she hame; Says, I hae been at Broomfield Hills, And maid returnd again.

D
‘I'LL wager, I’ll wager,’ says Lord John, ‘A hundred merks and ten, That ye winna gae to the bonnie broom-fields, And a maid return again.’ ‘But I’ll lay a wager wi you, Lord John, A’ your merks oure again, That I’ll gae alane to the bonnie broom-fields, And a maid return again.’ Then Lord John mounted his grey steed, And his hound wi his bells sae bricht, And swiftly he rade to the bonny broomfields, Wi his hawks, like a lord or knicht. ‘Now rest, now rest, my bonnie grey steed, My lady will soon be here, And I’ll lay my head aneath this rose sae red, And the bonnie burn sae near.’ But sound, sound was the sleep he took, For he slept till it was noon, And his lady cam at day, left a taiken and away, Gaed as licht as a glint o the moon. She strawed the roses on the ground, Threw her mantle on the brier, And the belt around her middle sae jimp, As a taiken that she’d been there. The rustling leaves flew round his head, And rousd him frae his dream; He saw by the roses, and mantle sae green, That his love had been there and was gane. ‘O whare was ye, my gude grey steed, That I coft ye sae dear, That ye didna waken your master, Whan ye kend that his love was here?’ ‘I pautit wi my foot, master, Garrd a’ my bridles ring, And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time.’ ‘Then whare was ye, my bonnie grey hound, That I coft ye sae dear, That ye didna waken your master, Whan ye kend that his love was here?’ ‘I pautit wi my foot, master, Garrd a’ my bells to ring, And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time.’ ‘But whare was ye, my hawks, my hawks, That I coft ye sae dear, That ye didna waken your master, Whan ye kend that his love was here?’ ‘O wyte na me, now, my master dear, I garrd a’ my young hawks sing, And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time.’ ‘Then be it sae, my wager gane, ’Twill skaith frae meikle ill, For gif I had found her in bonnie broomfields, O her heart’s blude ye’d drunken your fill.’

E
'I'LL wager, I’ll wager wi you, fair maid, Five hunder punds and ten, That a maid winna gae to the bonnie green bower, An a maid return back agen.’ ‘I’ll wager, I’ll wager wi you, kin’ sir, Five hunder punds and ten, That a maid I’ll gang to the bonnie green bower, An a maid return again.’ But when she cam to the bonnie green bower, Her true-love was fast asleep; Sumtimes she kist his rosie, rosie lips, An his breath was wondrous sweet. Sometimes she went to the crown o his head, Sometimes to the soles o his feet, Sometimes she kist his rosie, rosie lips, An his breath was wondrous sweet. She’s taen a ring frae her finger, Laid it upon his breast-bane; It was for a token that she had been there, That she had been there, but was gane. ‘Where was you, where was ye, my merry men a’, That I do luve sae dear, That ye didna waken me out o my sleep When my true love was here? ‘Where was ye, where was ye, my gay goshawk, That I do luve sae dear, That ye didna waken me out o my sleep Whan my true love was here?’ ‘Wi my wings I flaw, kin’ sir, An wi my bill I sang, But ye woudna waken out o yer sleep Till your true love was gane.’ ‘Where was ye, my bonnie grey steed, That I do luve sae dear, That ye didna waken me out o my sleep When my true love was here?’ ‘I stampit wi my fit, maister, And made my bridle ring, But ye wadna waken out o yer sleep, Till your true love was gane.’

F
A NOBLE young squire that livd in the west, He courted a young lady gay, And as he was merry, he put forth a jest, A wager with her he would lay. ‘A wager with me?’ the young lady reply’d, ‘I pray, about what must it be? If I like the humour you shan’t be deny’d; I love to be merry and free.’ Quoth he, ‘I will lay you an hundred pounds, A hundred pounds, aye, and ten, That a maid if you go to the merry broomfield, That a maid you return not again.’ ‘I’ll lay you that wager,’ the lady she said, Then the money she flung down amain; ‘To the merry broomfield I’ll go a pure maid, The same I’ll return home again.’ He coverd her bett in the midst of the hall With an hundred and ten jolly pounds, And then to his servant straightway he did call, For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds. A ready obedience the servant did yield, And all was made ready oer night; Next morning he went to the merry broomfield, To meet with his love and delight. Now when he came there, having waited a while, Among the green broom down he lies; The lady came to him, and coud not but smile, For sleep then had closed his eyes. Upon his right hand a gold ring she secur’d, Down from her own finger so fair, That when he awaked he might be assur’d His lady and love had been there. She left him a posie of pleasant perfume, Then stept from the place where he lay; Then hid herself close in the besom of the broom, To hear what her true-love would say. He wakend and found the gold ring on his hand, Then sorrow of heart he was in: ‘My love has been here, I do well understand, And this wager I now shall not win. ‘O where was you, my goodly gawshawk, The which I have purchasd so dear? Why did you not waken me out of my sleep When the lady, my lover, was here?’ ‘O with my bells did I ring, master, And eke with my feet did I run; And still did I cry, Pray awake, master, She’s here now, and soon will be gone.’ ‘O where was you, my gallant greyhound, Whose collar is flourishd with gold? Why hadst thou not wakend me out of my sleep When thou didst my lady behold?’ ‘Dear master, I barkd with my mouth when she came, And likewise my coller I shook, And told you that here was the beautiful dame, But no notice of me then you took.’ ‘O where was thou, my serving-man, Whom I have cloathed so fine? If you had wak’d me when she was here, The wager then had been mine.’ ‘In the night ye should have slept, master, And kept awake in the day; Had you not been sleeping when hither she came, Then a maid she had not gone away.’ Then home he returnd, when the wager was lost, With sorrow of heart, I may say; The lady she laughd to find her love crost,-+- This was upon midsummer-day. ‘O squire, I laid in the bushes conceald, And heard you when you did complain; And thus I have been to the merry broomfield, And a maid returnd back again. ‘Be chearful, be chearful, and do not repine, For now ’tis as clear as the sun, The money, the money, the money is mine, The wager I fairly have won.’