Motherwell's Manuscript, p. 305,
from the recitation of Rebecca Dunse, 4th May, 1825:
one of her mother's songs, an old woman.
| 1 |
'It's gold shall be your hire,' she says,
'And silver shall be your fee,
If you will keep the secrets
Between Little Sir Grove and me.' |
| 2 |
'Tho gold should be my hire,' he says,
'And silver should be my fee,
It's I'll not keep the secret
Betwixt Little Sir Grove and thee.' |
| 3 |
Up he rose, and away he goes,
And along the plain he ran,
And when he came to Lord Bengwill's castle,
He tinkled at the pin;
And who was sae ready as Lord Bengwill himsell
To let his little page in. |
| 4 |
'Is any of my towers burnt?' he said,
'Or any of my castles taen?
Or is Lady Bengwill brought to bed,
Of a daughter or a son?' |
| 5 |
'It's nane of your towers are burnt,' he said,
'Nor nane of your castles taen;
But Lady Bengwill and Little Sir Grove
To merry bed they are gane.' |
| 6 |
'If this be true that you tell me,
Rewarded you shall be;
And if it's a lie that you tell me,
You shall be hanged before your ladie's een. |
| 7 |
'Get saddled to me the black,' he says,
'Get saddled to me the brown;
Get saddled to me the swiftest steed
That ever man rode on.' |
| 8 |
The firsten town that he cam to,
He blew baith loud and schill,
And aye the owre-word o the tune
Was, 'Sir Grove, I wish you well.' |
| 9 |
The nexten town that he came to,
He blew baith loud and long,
And aye the owre-word of the tune
Was 'Sir Grove, it is time to be gone.' |
| 10 |
'Is yon the sound of the hounds?' he says,
'Or is yon the sound of the deer?
But I think it's the sound of my brother's horn,
That sound sae schill in my ear.' |
| 11 |
'Lye still, lye still, Sir Grove,' she says,
'And keep a fair lady from cold;
It's but the sound of my father's herd-boys,
As they're driving the sheep to the fold.' |
| 12 |
They lay down in each other's arms,
And they fell fast asleep,
And neer a one of them did wake
Till Lord Bengwill stood at their feet. |
| 13 |
'How do you love my soft pillow?
Or how do you love my sheets?
Or how do you love my fair lady,
That lies in your arms and sleeps?' |
| 14 |
'Full well I love your soft pillow,
Far better I love your sheets;
But woe be to your fair lady,
That lies in my arms and sleeps!' |
| 15 |
'Rise up, rise up, Sir Grove,' he says,
'Some clothes there put you upon;
Let it never be said in fair England
I fought with a naked man.' |
| 16 |
'Oh where shall I go, or where shall I fly,
Or where shall I run for my life?
For you've got two broadswords into your hand,
And I have never a knife.' |
| 17 |
'You shall take the one sword,' he says,
'And I shall take the other,
And that is as fair I'm sure to day
As that you are my born brother.' |
| 18 |
'Hold your hand, hold your hand, my brother dear,
You've wounded me full sore;
You may get a mistress in every town,
But a brother you'll never get more.' |
| 19 |
The very first stroke that Lord Bengwill gave him,
He wounded him full sore;
The very next stroke that Lord Bengwill gave him,
A word he never spoke more. |
| 20 |
He's lifted up Lady Bengwill,
And set her on his knee,
Saying, Whether do you love Little Sir Grove
Better than you do me? |
| 21 |
'Full well I love your cherry cheeks,
Full well I love your chin,
But better I love Little Sir Grove, where he lies,
Than you and all your kin.'
* * * * * |
| 22 |
'A grave, a grave,' Lord Bengwill cried,
'To put these lovers in,
And put Lady Bengwill uppermost,
For she's come of the noblest kin.' |
