A Collection of Ballads by Andrew Lang (little red riding hood read aloud .txt) 📕

“Grant me my life, my liege, my king! And a bonnie gift I’ll gi’e to thee; Full four-and-twenty milk-white steeds, Were all foal’d in ae year to me.

“I’ll gi’e thee all these milk-white steeds, That prance and nicher {4} at a spear; And as meikle gude Inglish gilt, {5} As four of their braid backs dow {6} bear.”

“Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out of my sight soon may’st thou be! I granted never a traitor’s life, And now I’ll not begin with thee.”

“Grant me my life, my liege, my king! And a bonnie gift I’ll gi’e to thee: Gude four-and-twenty ganging {7} mills, That gang thro’ all the year to me.

“These four-and-twenty mills complete, Shall gang for thee thro’ all the year; And as meikle of gude red wheat, As all their happers dow to bear.”

“Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out of my sight soon may’st thou be! I granted never a traitor’s life, And now I’ll not begin with thee.”

“Grant me my life, my liege, my king! And a great gift I’ll gi’e to thee: Bauld four-and-twenty sisters’ sons Shall for thee fecht, tho’ all shou’d flee.”

“Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out of my sight soon may’st thou be! I granted never a traitor’s life, And now I’ll not begin with thee.”

“Grant me my life, my liege, my king! And a brave gift I’ll gi’e to thee: All between here and Newcastle town Shall pay their yearly rent to thee.”

“Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out of my sight soon may’st thou be! I granted never a traitor’s life, And now I’ll not begin with thee.”

“Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,” he says, “Altho’ a king and prince ye be! For I’ve loved naething in my life, I weel dare say it, but honestie.

“Save a fat horse, and a fair woman, Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deer; But England shou’d have found me meal and mault, Gif I had lived this hundred year.

“She shou’d have found me meal and mault, And beef and mutton in all plentie; But never a Scots wife cou’d have said, That e’er I skaith’d her a puir flee.

“To seek het water beneath cauld ice, Surely it is a great follie: I have ask’d grace at a graceless face, But there is nane for my men and me.

“But had I kenn’d, ere I came frae hame, How unkind thou wou’dst been to me, I wou’d ha’e keepit the Border side, In spite of all thy force and thee.

“Wist England’s king that I was ta’en, Oh, gin a blythe man he wou’d be! For ance I slew his sister’s son, And on his breast-bane brak a tree.”

John wore a girdle about his middle, Embroider’d o’er with burning gold, Bespangled with the same metal, Maist beautiful was to behold.

There hang nine targats {8} at Johnnie’s hat, An ilk ane worth three hundred pound: “What wants that knave that a king shou’d have, But the sword of honour and the crown?

“Oh, where got thee these targats, Johnnie. That blink sae brawly {9} aboon thy brie?” “I gat them in the field fechting, {10} Where, cruel king, thou durst not be.

“Had I my horse and harness gude, And riding as I wont to be, It shou’d have been tauld this hundred year, The meeting of my king and me!

“God be with thee, Kirsty, {11} my brother, Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun! Lang may’st thou live on the Border side, Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down!

“And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son, Where thou sits on thy nurse’s knee! But an thou live this hundred year, Thy father’s better thou’lt never be.

“Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall, Where on Esk side thou standest stout! Gif I had lived but seven years mair, I wou’d ha’e gilt thee round about.”

John murder’d was at Carlinrigg, And all his gallant companie; But Scotland’s heart was ne’er sae wae, To see sae mony brave men die;

Because they saved their country dear Frae Englishmen! Nane were sae bauld While Johnnie lived on the Border side, Nane of them durst come near his hauld.

Ballad: Edom O’ Gordon

It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, Said Edom o’ Gordon to his men,— “We maun draw to a hald. {12}

“And whatna hald shall we draw to, My merry men and me? We will gae straight to Towie house, To see that fair ladye.”

[The ladye stood on her castle wall, Beheld baith dale and down; There she was ‘ware of a host of men Came riding towards the town.

“Oh, see ye not, my merry men all, Oh, see ye not what I see? Methinks I see a host of men; I marvel who they be.”

She thought it had been her own wed lord. As he came riding hame; It was the traitor, Edom o’ Gordon, Wha reck’d nae sin nor shame.]

She had nae sooner buskit hersel’, And putten on her gown, Till Edom o’ Gordon and his men Were round about the town.

They had nae sooner supper set, Nae sooner said the grace, Till Edom o’ Gordon and his men Were round about the place.

The ladye ran to her tower head, As fast as she cou’d hie, To see if, by her fair speeches, She cou’d with him agree.

As soon as he saw this ladye fair. And her yetts all lockit fast, He fell into a rage of wrath, And his heart was all aghast.

“Come down to me, ye ladye gay, Come down, come down to me; This night ye shall lye within my arms, The morn my bride shall be.”

“I winna come down, ye false Gordon, I winna come down to thee; I winna forsake my ain dear lord, That is sae far frae me.”

“Gi’e up your house, ye ladye fair, Gi’e up your house to me; Or I shall burn yoursel’ therein, Bot and your babies three.”

“I winna gi’e up, ye false Gordon, To nae sic traitor as thee; Tho’ you shou’d burn mysel’ therein, Bot and my babies three.

[“But fetch to me my pistolette, And charge to me my gun; For, but if I pierce that bluidy butcher, My babes we will be undone.”

She stiffly stood on her castle wall, And let the bullets flee; She miss’d that bluidy butcher’s heart, Tho’ she slew other three.]

“Set fire to the house!” quo’ the false Gordon, “Since better may nae be; And I will burn hersel’ therein, Bot and her babies three.”

“Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man, I paid ye weel your fee; Why pull ye out the grund-wa’-stance, Lets in the reek {13} to me?

“And e’en wae worth ye, Jock, my man, I paid ye weel your hire; Why pull ye out my grund-wa’-stane, To me lets in the fire?”

“Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye, Ye paid me weel my fee; But now I’m Edom o’ Gordon’s man, Maun either do or dee.”

Oh, then out spake her youngest son, Sat on the nurse’s knee: Says—“Mither dear, gi’e o’er this house, For the reek it smothers me.”

[“I wou’d gi’e all my gold, my bairn, Sae wou’d I all my fee, For ae blast of the westlin’ wind, To blaw the reek frae thee.]

“But I winna gi’e up my house, my dear, To nae sic traitor as he; Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair, Ye maun take share with me.”

Oh, then out spake her daughter dear, She was baith jimp and small: “Oh, row me in a pair of sheets, And tow me o’er the wall.”

They row’d her in a pair of sheets, And tow’d her o’er the wall; But on the point of Gordon’s spear She got a deadly fall.

Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, And cherry were her cheeks; And clear, clear was her yellow hair, Whereon the red bluid dreeps.

Then with his spear he turn’d her o’er, Oh, gin her face was wan! He said—“You are the first that e’er I wish’d alive again.”

He turn’d her o’er and o’er again, Oh, gin her skin was white! “I might ha’e spared that bonnie face To ha’e been some man’s delight.

“Busk and boun, my merry men all, For ill dooms I do guess; I canna look on that bonnie face, As it lyes on the grass!”

“Wha looks to freits, {14} my master dear, Their freits will follow them; Let it ne’er be said brave Edom o’ Gordon Was daunted with a dame.”

[But when the ladye saw the fire Come flaming o’er her head, She wept, and kissed her children twain; Said—“Bairns, we been but dead.”

The Gordon then his bugle blew, And said—“Away, away! The house of Towie is all in a flame, I hald it time to gae.”]

Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord, As he came o’er the lea; He saw his castle all in a flame, As far as he could see.

Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave, And oh, his heart was wae! “Put on, put on, my wighty {15} men, As fast as ye can gae.

“Put on, put on, my wighty men, As fast as ye can drie; For he that is hindmost of the thrang Shall ne’er get gude of me!”

Then some they rade, and some they ran, Full fast out o’er the bent; But ere the foremost could win up, Baith ladye and babes were brent.

[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, And wept in tearful mood; “Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed, Ye shall weep tears of bluid.”

And after the Gordon he has gane, Sae fast as he might drie; And soon in the Gordon’s foul heart’s bluid He’s wroken {16} his dear layde.]

And mony were the mudie {17} men Lay gasping on the green; And mony were the fair ladyes Lay lemanless at hame.

And mony were the mudie men Lay gasping on the green; For of fifty men the Gordon brocht, There were but five gaed hame.

And round, and round the walls he went, Their ashes for to view; At last into the flames he flew, And bade the world adieu.

Ballad: Lady Anne Bothwell’s Lament

(Child, vol. iv. Early Edition.)

Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep, If thou’lt be silent, I’ll be glad, Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. Balow, my boy, thy mother’s joy, Thy father bred one great annoy. Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.

Balow, my darling, sleep a while, And when thou wak’st then sweetly smile; But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids, nay, God forbid; For in thine eye his look I see, The tempting look that ruin’d me. Balow, my boy, etc.

When he began to court my love, And with his sugar’d words to move, His tempting face, and flatt’ring chear, In time to me did not appear; But now I see that cruel he Cares neither for his babe nor me. Balow, my boy, etc.

Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman’s mouth. Let never any after me Submit unto thy courtesy! For, if hey do, O! cruel thou Wilt her abuse and care not how! Balow, my boy, etc.

I was too cred’lous at the first, To yield thee all a maiden durst. Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchang’d, unchang’d thy love; But quick as thought the change is wrought, Thy love’s no mair, thy promise nought. Balow, my boy, etc.

I wish I were a maid again! From young men’s flatt’ry I’d refrain; For now unto my grief I