P. 101 b. Danish. 'Kong Valdemar og hans
Søster,' Kristensen, Jyske Folkeminder, X, 75, 378, No
23.
102 b. Breton ballad. After Luzel, II, 6-15, add 558,
the page of the third ballad.
Quellien, Chansons et Danses des Bretons, p. 73, is a fourth
version. This ballad, says Quellien, is widely spread, and has
various titles, one of which is 'Le Comte de Poitou.'
103 ff. "Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,"
Abbotsford, No 25. In the handwriting of William Laidlaw; "from
Jean Scott."
| 1 |
Young Janet sits in her garden,
Makin a heavie maen,
Whan by cam her father dear,
Walkin himself alane. |
| 2 |
'It's telld me in my bower, Janet,
It's telld me in my bed,
That ye 're in love wi Sweet Willie;
But a French lord ye maun wed.' |
| 3 |
'In it be telld ye in yer bower, father,
In it be telld ye in your bed,
That me an Willie bears a love,
Yet a French lord I maun wed,
But here I mak a leel, leel vow
He's neer come in my bed. |
| 4 |
'An for to please my father dear
A French lord I will wed;
But I hae sworn a solemn oth
He's neer come in my bed.' |
| 5 |
Young Janet's away to her bower-door,
As fast as she can hie,
An Willie he has followd her,
He's followd speedilie. |
| 6 |
An whan he cam to her bowr-door
He tirlt at the pin:
'O open, open, Janet love,
Open an let me in.' |
| 7 |
'It was never my mother's custm, Willie,
It never sal be mine,
For a man to come the bower within
When a woman's travelin. |
| 8 |
'Gae yer ways to my sisters' bower,
Crie, Meg, Marion an Jean,
Ye maun come to yer sister Janet,
For fear that she be gane.' |
| 9 |
Sae he gaed to her sisters' bower,
Cry'd, Meg, Marion an Jean,
Ye maun come to yer sister Janet,
For fear that she be gane. |
| 10 |
Some drew to their silk stokins,
An some drew to their shoon,
An some drew to their silk cleadin,
For fear she had been gane. |
| 11 |
When they cam to her bower-door
They tirlt at the pin;
For as sick a woman as she was,
She raise an loot them in. |
| 12 |
They had na the babie weel buskit,
Nor her laid in her bed,
Untill her cruel father cam,
Cried, Fye, gar busk the bride! |
| 13 |
'There a sair pain in my back, father,
There a sair pain in my head,
An sair, sair is my sidies to;
This day I downa ride.' |
| 14 |
'But I hae sorn a solemn oath,
Afore a companie,
That ye sal ride this day, Janet,
This day an ye soud die. |
| 15 |
'Whae'll horse ye to the kirk, Janet?
An whae will horse ye best?'
'Whae but Willie, my true-love?
He kens my mister best.' |
| 16 |
'Whae'll horse ye to the kirk, Janet?
An whae will horse ye there?'
'Whae but Willie, my true-love?
He neer will doo'd nae maer. |
| 17 |
'Ye may saddle a steed, Willie,
An see that ye saddle 't soft;
Ye may saddle a steed. Willie.
For ye winna saddle 't oft. |
| 18 |
'Ye may saddle a steed, Willie,
An see that ye saddle 't side;
Ye may saddle a steed, Willie;
But I thought to have been yer bride.' |
| 19 |
When they war a' on horse-back set,
On horse-back set sae hie,
Then up spak the bold bridegroom,
An he spak boustresslie. |
| 20 |
Up then spak the bold bridegroom,
An he spak loud an thrawn;
'I think the bride she be wi bairn,
She looks sae pale an wan.' |
| 21 |
Then she took out her bible-book,
Swoor by her fingers five
That she was neither wi lad nor lass
To no man was alive. |
| 22 |
Then she took out her bible-book,
Swoor by her fingers ten
An ever she had born a bairn in her days
She had born'd sin yestreen:
Then a' the ladies round about
Said, That's a loud leesin. |
| 23 |
Atween the kitchin an the kirk
It was a weel-met mile;
It was a stra'd i the red roses,
But than the camomile. |
| 24 |
When the war a' at dener set,
Drinkin at the wine,
Janet could neither eat nor drink
But the water that ran so fine. |
| 25 |
Up spak the bride's father,
Said, Bride, will ye dance wi me?
' Away, away, my cruel father!
There nae dancin wi me.' |
| 26 |
Up then spak the bride's mother,
Said, Bride, will ye dance wi me?
'Away, away, my mother dear!
There nae dancin wi me.' |
| 27 |
Up then spak the bride's sisters,
Said, Bride, will ye dance wi me?
'Away, away, my mother dear!
There nae dancin wi me.' |
| 28 |
Up then spak the bride's brother,
Said, Bride, will ye dance wi me?
'Away, away, my mother dear!
There nae dancin wi me.' |
| 39 |
Then up spak the bold bridegroom,
Said, Bride, will ye dance wi me?
'Away, away, my mother dear!
There nae dancin wi me.' |
| 30 |
Up then spak the Sweet Willie,
An he spak wi a vance;
'An ye'll draw of my boots, Janet,
I'll gie a' yer lassies a dance.' |
| 31 |
'I seen 't other ways, Willie,
An sae has mae than me,
When ye wad hae danced wi my fair body,
An leten a' my maidens be.' |
| 32 |
He took her by the milk-white hand,
An led her wi mickle care,
But she drapit down just at his feet,
And word spak little mair. |
| 33 |
'Ye may gae hire a nurse, Willie,
An take yer young son hame;
Ye may gae hire a nurse, Willie,
For bairn's nurse I'll be nane.' |
| 34 |
She's pu'd out the keys o her coffer,
Hung leugh down by her gair;
She said, Gie thae to my young son,
Thrae me he'll neer get mair.' |
| 35 |
Up then spak the bold bridegroom,
An he spak bousterouslie;
'I've gien you the skaeth, Willie,
But ye've gien me the scorn;
Sae there's no a bell i St. Mary's kirk
Sail ring for her the morn.' |
| 36 |
'Ye've gien me the skaeth, bridegroom,
But I'll gee you the scorn;
For there's no a bell i St. Marie's kirk
But sal ring for her the morn. |
| 37 |
'Gar deal, gar deal at my love's burial
The wheat-bread an the wine,
For or the morn at ten o clock
Ye'll deal'd as fast at mine.' |
| 38 |
Then he's drawn out a nut-brown sword,
Hang leugh down by his gair,
He's thrust it in just at his heart,
An word spak never mair. |
| 39 |
The taen was buried i St. Mary's kirk,
The tother i St. Mary's queer,
An throw the taen there sprang a birk,
Throw the tother a bonnie brier. |
| 40 |
Thae twae met, an thae twae plaet,
An ay they knitit near,
An ilka ane that cam thereby
Said, There lies twa lovers dear. |
| 41 |
Till by there came an ill French lord,
An ill death may he die!
For he pu'd up the bonnie brier,
. . . |
