Child Ballads - Additions and Corrections

235. The Earl of Aboyne

P. 314. C. Here given as it stands in "The Old Lady's Collection," No 8.

1	The Earl of Aboyn he's carrlis an kind, An he is nou come frae Lonon; He sent his man him befor, To tell of his Lame-coming.
2	First she called on her chambermad, Sayn on Jeanie, her gentelwoman: 'Bring me a glass of the best claret wine, To drink my good lord's well-hame-coming.
3	'My sarvants all, be ready att a call, . . . . . . For the Lord of Aboy[n] is coming.
4	'My cooks all, be ready at a [c]all, . . . We the very best of meatt, For the Lord of Aboyn is coming.
5	'My maids all, be ready at a call, . . . The rooms we the best all to be drest, For the Lord of Aboyn is coming.'
6	She did her to the closs to take him from his hors, An she welcomed him fra London: . . . 'Yer welcome, my gued lord, fra London!'
7	An I be saie welcom,' he says, ' Ye'll kiss me for my coming, For the morn sud ha ben my weding-day, Gif I had stayed att London.'
8	She turned her about we a disdanfull look, O dear, she was a pritty woman! ' Gin the morn sud ha ben yer weding-day, Ye may kiss yer houers at London.'
9	. . . . . . 'So I shall, madam, an ye's ha na mare to say, For I ill dine we the markes of Huntly.'
10	She did her to his servant-man, I wat they caed him Peater Gordon: ' Ye will ask my good lord if he will late me We him a singel mille to ride [to London].'
11	'You ned not, madam, . . . I haae asked him already; He will not lett you a singel mille ride, For he is to dine we the markes of Huntly.'
12	She called on her chamber-maid, Sine on Jean, her gentelwoman: 'Ye make my bed an tay up my head, Vou's me for his hear coming!'
13	She lived a year an day, we mucell grife an wae, The doctors were we her dealing; Withen a crak, her heart it brack, An the letters they went to London.
14	He gae the table we his foot, An caped it we his knee, Gared silver cup an easer dish In flinders flie.
15	. . . . . . 'I rader I had lost a' the lans of Aboyne Or I had lost bonny Margrat Irven.'
16	He called on his best servang-man, I wat they [caed] him Piter Gordon: ' Ye gett our bosses sadled we speed, Vou's me for our hear coming!
17	. . . . . . For we'll a' be in black, fra the hose to the hat, Vou's me for bonny Margrat Irvieen!
18	We must to the North, to burry her corps, Aless for our hear coming! I rather I had lost a' the lands of Aboyn Or I had lost bonny Marg[ra]t Irvien!'

1¹. carliss: perhaps courtis.
8². pritty: doubtful.

318-20. Copies of G, I, J, were sent by Motherwell to C.K. Sharpe, in a letter dated December 6, 1824. In all the transcripts there are some slight changes of the Manuscript text, such as Motherwell was quite in the way of making. To I he added the following lines, which are found substantially in J. They may have been subsequently recollected by the reciter of I.

10	She has called her servant-maid, And Jean, her gentlewoman: 'Go make me a bed and lay me down, I 'm as sick as any woman.'
11	Word has to new London gane, To the tavern where he was dining; He gave such a rap on the table where he sat Made all the house to wonder.
12	. . . . . . 'I would rather hae lost a' the lands o Aboyne Or I 'd lost my Peggy Irvine!'

11¹. Motherwell suggests: Word has now to.

321. Findlay Manuscripts, I, 120. 'The Yerle o Aboyne,' from Mrs. Main, Inchmarlo, Kincardineshire.

1	The Yerle o Aboyne's to London gane, He met in wi a temptin woman; For she sat an sang an birld at the wine, An she wadna lat him hame fae Lunon.
	* * *
2	'My cook-maids a', be well in ca, Had pots an pans a boilin, Wi the roast an the boil, To attend my guid lord's comin.'
3	She steppit sae neatly oot the way, She gaed, she went an met him: 'Ye're welcome home, my ain guid lord, You'r thrice weelcome fae Lunon.'
4	'An I be welcome home,' he says, 'Ye'll kiss me for my comin, For this very day I 'd been wedded to a maid Gin I 'd staid langer in Lunon.'
5	She turnd her about wi a sorrowf u look, Such a sorry an angry woman! 'An the letters be true I receivd last frae you, Gae kiss your whores in Lunon.'
6	Haem she gaed frae . . . . . . But wi a crack her heart did brak, . . .
7	Fifty letters seald wi black, An they are on to Lunon, An when he lookd the letters upon He says, O wae's me for my pairtin!
	* * *
8	When he cam to bonny Aboyne, He thocht that she was sleepin, But when he drew the sma curtain by Then he fell oot a weepin.
9	'O dear! is she dead? and a wow I is she dead? Ah, woe's me for our pairtin! I rather had lost a' the lands o Aboyne Or I'd pairted wi Peggie Irvine.
	* * *
10	'A' my friends did me disdain For marryin the name o Irvine.'

The first stanza is also given thus (p. 121):

The Earl of Aboyne he's courtous an kin,
He's kin to every woman;
He's kind when he comes, an he's kind when he gangs,
But he never brings his lady to London.

From Miss Butchart, Arbroath, p. 146.

1	The Earl o Aboyne's to London gane, An taen Duke Huntly wi him,
	* * *
2	She called on Jack, her gentleman, An Jean, her gentlewoman: 'Gae dress my fair body in some finer dress, For the Earl o Aboyne is comin.'
	* * *
3	She's gaen doun by yon burnside, An there she saw him comin: 'Ye're welcome, welcome, Earl o Aboyne, Ye're welcome hame frae Lunon.
	* * *
4	'Gae back, gae back then, Earl o Aboyne, Nae thanks to you for comin; Gin tomorrow wad hae been your fair weddin-day, Gae kiss your dames in Lunon.'

P. 311 b, omit the paragraph beginning J, and say:

Charles, first Earl of Aboyne, married for his first wife Margaret Irvine of Drum, who died in December, 1662. (The Records of Aboyne, edited by the Marquis of Huntly, New Spalding Club, 1894, p. 552.) The story of the ballad, so far as is known, is an absolute fiction.

In vol. ii of Retours or Services of Heirs, No 4906 (Aberdeen), 17 June, 1665, there is the entry: Domina Anna Gordoun, hæres Dominæ Margaretæ Irving, sponsæ Comitis de Aboyne matris. (Mr. Walker of Aberdeen.)

311, V, 270. Mr. Macmath has sent me this stall-copy, printed by J. Morren, Cowgate, Edinburgh.

Peggy Irvine

1	Our lady stands in her chamber-door, viewing the Grahams are a coming; She knew by the light of their livery so red they were new come down from London.
2	She called on her chambermaid, and Jeany her gentlewoman: You'll dress my body in some fine dress, for yon is my good lord a coming.
3	Her smock was of the holland so fine, her body round with busting; Her shoes were of the small corded twine, and her stockings silk and twisting.
4	Her petticoats was of the silk so fine, set out with the silver and scolloping; Her gown was of the red damask silk so fine, trimmed with the red gold gold mounting.
5	'You guildery maids, come trim up my gauze, and make them silver shining; With strawberry flowers cover all my bowers, and hang them round with the linen.
6	Ye minstrels all, be on our call when you see his horses coming; With music spring, spare not your string when you hear his bridles ringing.'
7	She called on Meg her chamber-maid, and Jeanny her gentlewoman: 'Go bring me a bottle of the good Spanish wine, for to drink his health that's coming.'
8	She gently tripped down the stair, and away to the gate to meet him: 'You are welcome, you lord of the Boyne, you are welcome home from London.'
9	'If this be so, come let me know, come kiss me for my coming; For tomorrow should have been my wedding-day if I had staid in London.'
10	She gave the glass out of her hand, she was a woeful woman: 'If the morrow should be your wedding-day, Go back to your whores in London,'
11	He looked oer his right shoulder, his comely court behind him: 'This is a merry welcome' he says, 'that we have got from London.
12	'To your horse, to your horse, my nobles all, to your horse, let us be going; This night we'll lodge in Drummond castle, and tomorrow we'll march to London.'
13	Now this lady has fallen sick, and doctors we her dealing, But at length her heart did break, and letters sent to London.
14	He took the letter in his hand, and loud, loud was he laughing, But before he read it to an end, the tears did come down rapping.
15	'To your horse, to your horse, my nobles all, to your horse, let's be going; To your horse, let us all go in black, and mourn for Peggy Irvine.'
16	When he came to his own castle-gate, the knight was weary weeping: 'Cheer up your heart, you lord of Boyne, your lady is but sleeping.'
17	'Sleeping deary, sleeping dow, I'm afraid she's oer sound sleeping; It's I had rather lost all the lands of the Boyne before I would have lost Peggy Irvine.'

4². set out out.
10³. If he.

Trivial Corrections of Spelling.

312 b, 9¹. Read o gold.

312 b, 10^1,2. Read steppet, walket.

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