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

into an ugly worm, And gar’d me toddle about the tree; And aye on ilka Saturday night, Auld Alison Gross she came to me,

With silver basin, and silver kame, To kame my headie upon her knee; But rather than kiss her ugly mouth, I’d ha’e toddled for ever about the tree.

But as it fell out on last Hallowe’en, When the seely court was ridin’ by, The queen lighted down on a gowan bank, Near by the tree where I wont to lye.

She took me up in her milk-white hand, And she straik’d me three times o’er her knee; She chang’d me again to my ain proper shape, And nae mair do I toddle about the tree.

 

Ballad: The Heir Of Lynne

 

Of all the lords in faire Scotland A song I will begin: Amongst them all dwelled a lord Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.

His father and mother were dead him froe, And so was the head of all his kinne; He did neither cease nor blinne To the cards and dice that he did run.

To drinke the wine that was so cleere! With every man he would make merry. And then bespake him John of the Scales, Unto the heire of Lynne say’d hee,

Sayes “how dost thou, Lord of Lynne, Doest either want gold or fee? Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode To such a good fellow as me?

“For . . I . . ” he said, “My land, take it unto thee; I draw you to record, my lords all;” With that he cast him a Gods pennie.

He told him the gold upon the bord, It wanted never a bare penny. “That gold is thine, the land is mine, The heire of Lynne I will bee.”

“Heeres gold enough,” saithe the heire of Lynne, “Both for me and my company.” He drunke the wine that was so cleere, And with every man he made merry.

Within three quarters of a yeare His gold and fee it waxed thinne, His merry men were from him gone, And left himselfe all alone.

He had never a penny left in his purse, Never a penny but three, And one was brasse and another was lead And another was white mony.

“Now well-a-day!” said the heire of Lynne, “Now well-a-day, and woe is mee! For when I was the Lord of Lynne, I neither wanted gold nor fee;

“For I have sold my lands so broad, And have not left me one penny! I must go now and take some read Unto Edenborrow and beg my bread.”

He had not beene in Edenborrow Nor three quarters of a yeare, But some did give him and some said nay, And some bid “to the deele gang yee!

“For if we should hang some land selfeer, The first we would begin with thee.” “Now well-a-day!” said the heire of Lynne, “Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!

“For now I have sold my lands so broad That merry man is irke with mee; But when that I was the Lord of Lynne Then on my land I lived merrily;

“And now I have sold my land so broade That I have not left me one pennye! God be with my father!” he said, “On his land he lived merrily.”

Still in a study there as he stood, He unbethought him of a bill, He unbethought him of a bill Which his father had left with him.

Bade him he should never on it looke Till he was in extreame neede, “And by my faith,” said the heire of Lynne, “Then now I had never more neede.”

He tooke the bill and looked it on, Good comfort that he found there; It told him of a castle wall Where there stood three chests in feare:

Two were full of the beaten gold, The third was full of white money. He turned then downe his bags of bread And filled them full of gold so red.

Then he did never cease nor blinne Till John of the Scales house he did winne. When that he came John of the Scales, Up at the speere he looked then;

There sate three lords upon a rowe, And John o’ the Scales sate at the bord’s head, And John o’ the Scales sate at the bord’s head Because he was the lord of Lynne.

And then bespake the heire of Lynne To John o’ the Scales wife thus sayd hee, Sayd “Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott That I may sit downe in this company?”

“Now Christ’s curse on my head,” she said, “If I do trust thee one pennye,” Then bespake a good fellowe, Which sate by John o’ the Scales his knee,

Said “have thou here, thou heire of Lynne, Forty-pence I will lend thee,— Some time a good fellow thou hast beene And other forty if it need bee.”

They drunken wine that was so cleere, And every man they made merry, And then bespake him John o’ the Scales Unto the Lord of Lynne said hee;

Said “how doest thou heire of Lynne, Since I did buy thy lands of thee? I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe, Nor ever did I buy it of thee.”

“I draw you to recorde, lords all:” With that he cast him god’s penny; Then he tooke to his bags of bread, And they were full of the gold so red.

He told him the gold then over the borde It wanted never a broad pennye; “That gold is thine, the land is mine, And the heire of Lynne againe I will bee.”

“Now well-a-day!” said John o’ the Scales’ wife, “Well-a-day, and woe is me! Yesterday I was the lady of Lynne, And now I am but John o’ the Scales wife!”

Says “have thou here, thou good fellow, Forty pence thou did lend me; Forty pence thou did lend me, And forty I will give thee, I’ll make thee keeper of my forrest, Both of the wild deere and the tame.”

But then bespake the heire of Lynne, These were the words and thus spake hee, “Christ’s curse light upon my crowne If ere my land stand in any jeopardye!”

 

Ballad: Gordon Of Brackley

 

Down Deeside cam Inveraye Whistlin’ and playing, An’ called loud at Brackley gate Ere the day dawning— “Come, Gordon of Brackley. Proud Gordon, come down, There’s a sword at your threshold Mair sharp than your own.”

“Arise now, gay Gordon,” His lady ‘gan cry, “Look, here is bold Inveraye Driving your kye.” “How can I go, lady, An’ win them again, When I have but ae sword, And Inveraye ten?”

“Arise up, my maidens, Wi’ roke and wi’ fan, How blest had I been Had I married a man! Arise up, my maidens, Tak’ spear and tak’ sword, Go milk the ewes, Gordon, An’ I will be lord.”

The Gordon sprung up Wi’ his helm on his head, Laid his hand on his sword, An’ his thigh on his steed, An’ he stooped low, and said, As he kissed his young dame, “There’s a Gordon rides out That will never ride hame.”

There rode with fierce Inveraye Thirty and three, But wi’ Brackley were nane But his brother and he; Twa gallanter Gordons Did never blade draw, But against three-and-thirty Wae’s me! what are twa?

Wi’ sword and wi’ dagger They rushed on him rude; The twa gallant Gordons Lie bathed in their blude. Frae the springs o’ the Dee To the mouth o’ the Tay, The Gordons mourn for him, And curse Inveraye.

“O were ye at Brackley? An’ what saw ye there? Was his young widow weeping An’ tearing her hair?” “I looked in at Brackley, I looked in, and oh! There was mirth, there was feasting, But naething o’ woe.

“As a rose bloomed the lady, An’ blithe as a bride, As a bridegroom bold Inveraye Smiled by her side. Oh! she feasted him there As she ne’er feasted lord, While the blood of her husband Was moist on his sword.

“In her chamber she kept him Till morning grew gray, Thro’ the dark woods of Brackley She shewed him the way. ‘Yon wild hill,’ she said, ‘Where the sun’s shining on, Is the hill of Glentanner,— One kiss, and begone!’”

There’s grief in the cottage, There’s grief in the ha’, For the gude, gallant Gordon That’s dead an’ awa’. To the bush comes the bud, An’ the flower to the plain, But the gude and the brave They come never again.

 

Ballad: Edward, Edward

 

“Why does your brand sae drop wi’ blude, Edward, Edward? Why does your brand sae drop wi’ blude And why sae sad gang ye, O?” “O I hae killed my hawk sae gude, Mither, mither; O I hae killed my hawk sae gude, And I hae nae mair but he, O.”

“Your hawk’s blude was never sae red, Edward, Edward; Your hawk’s blude was never sae red, My dear son, I tell thee, O.” “O I hae killed my red-roan steed, Mither, mither; O I hae killed my red-roan steed, That was sae fair and free, O.”

“Your steed was auld, and ye’ve plenty mair, Edward, Edward; Your steed was auld, and ye’ve plenty mair; Some ither dule ye dree, O.” “O I hae killed my father dear, Mither, mither; O I hae killed my father dear, Alas, and wae is me, O!”

“And whatten penance will ye dree for that, Edward, Edward? Whatten penance will ye dree for that? My dear son, now tell me, O.” “I’ll set my feet in yonder boat, Mither, mither; I’ll set my feet in yonder boat, And I’ll fare over the sea, O.”

“And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your ha’, Edward, Edward? And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your ha’, That were sae fair to see, O?” “I’ll let them stand till they doun fa’, Mither, mither; I’ll let them stand till they doun fa’, For here never mair maun I be, O.”

“And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward? And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, When ye gang ower the sea, O?” “The warld’s room: let them beg through life, Mither, mither; The warld’s room: let them beg through life; For them never mair will I see, O.”

“And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, Edward, Edward? And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, My dear son, now tell me, O?” “The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear, Mither, mither; The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear: Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!”

 

Ballad: Young Benjie

 

Of all the maids of fair Scotland, The fairest was Marjorie; And young Benjie was her ae true love, And a dear true love was he.

And wow but they were lovers dear, And lov’d full constantlie; But aye the mair when they fell out, The sairer was their plea.

And they ha’e quarrell’d on a day, Till Marjorie’s heart grew wae; And she said she’d chuse another luve, And let young Benjie gae.

And he was stout and proud-hearted, And thought o’t bitterlie; And he’s gane by the wan moonlight, To meet his Marjorie.

“Oh, open, open, my true love, Oh, open and let me in!” “I darena open, young Benjie, My three brothers are within.”

“Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie burd, Sae loud’s I hear ye lee; As I came by the Louden banks, They bade gude e’en to me.

“But fare ye weel, my ae fause love, That I have lov’d sae lang! It sets ye chuse another love, And let young Benjie gang.”

Then Marjorie turn’d her round about, The tear blinding her e’e; “I darena, darena let thee in, But I’ll come down to