# The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 4/Chapter 83

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CHILDE MAURICE hunted ithe siluer wood, He hunted itt round about, And noebodye that he found therin, Nor none there was with-out. . . . . . . . . . . . And he tooke his siluer combe in his hand, To kembe his yellow lockes. He sayes, Come hither, thou litle foot-page, That runneth lowlye by my knee, Ffor thou shalt goe to Iohn Stewards wiffe And pray her speake with mee. '. . . . . . . . . . . I, and greete thou doe that ladye well, Euer soe well froe mee. 'And, as itt falls, as many times As knotts beene knitt on a kell, Or merchant men gone to leeue London, Either to buy ware or sell. 'And, as itt falles, as many times As any hart can thinke, Or schoole-masters are in any schoole-house, Writting with pen and inke: Ffor if I might, as well as shee may, This night I wold with her speake. 'And heere I send her a mantle of greene, As greene as any grasse, And bidd her come to the siluer wood, To hunt with Child Maurice. 'And there I send her a ring of gold, A ring of precyous stone, And bidd her come to the siluer wood, Let for no kind of man.' One while this litle boy he yode, Another while he ran, Vntill he came to Iohn Stewards hall, I-wis he neuer blan. And of nurture the child had good, Hee ran vp hall and bower free, And when he came to this lady faire, Sayes, God you saue and see! And when he came to this lady faire, Sayes, God you saue and see! And when he came to this lady faire, Sayes, God you saue and see! 'I am come from Ch[i]ld Maurice, A message vnto thee; And Child Maurice, he greetes you well, And euer soe well from mee. 'And, as itt falls, as oftentimes As knotts beene knitt on a kell, Or marchant-men gone to leeue London, Either for to buy ware or sell. 'And as oftentimes he greetes you well As any hart can thinke, Or schoolemasters [are] in any schoole, Wryting with pen and inke. 'And heere he sends a mantle of greene, As greene as any grasse, And he bidds you come to the siluer wood, To hunt with Child Maurice. 'And heere he sends you a ring of gold, A ring of the precyous stone; He prayes you to come to the siluer wood, Let for no kind of man.' 'Now peace, now peace, thou litle foot-page, Ffor Christes sake, I pray thee! Ffor if my lord heare one of these words, Thou must be hanged hye!' Iohn Steward stood vnder the castle-wall, And he wrote the words euerye one, . . . . . . . . . . . And he called vnto his hors-keeper, 'Make readye you my steede!' I, and soe hee did to his chamberlaine, 'Make readye thou my weede!' And he cast a lease vpon his backe, And he rode to the siluer wood, And there he sought all about, About the siluer wood. And there he found him Child Maurice Sitting vpon a blocke, With a siluer combe in his hand, Kembing his yellow locke[s.]
But then stood vp him Child Maurice, And sayd these words trulye: 'I doe not know your ladye,' he said, 'If that I doe her see.' that I doe her see.' He sayes, How now, how now, Child Maurice? Alacke, how may this bee? Ffor thou hast sent her loue-tokens, More now then two or three. 'Ffor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene, As greene as any grasse, And bade her come to the siluer woode, To hunt with Child Maurice. 'And thou [hast] sent her a ring of gold, A ring of the precyous stone, And bade her come to the siluer wood, Let for no kind of man.' 'And by my faith, now, Child Maurice, The tone of vs shall dye!' 'Now be my troth,' sayd Child Maurice, 'And that shall not be I.' And soe fast he smote att Iohn Steward, But hee pulled forth a bright browne sword, And dryed itt on the grasse, And the first good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke, I-wisse he neuer [did] rest. Then hee pulled forth his bright browne sword, And dryed itt on his sleeue, And the first good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke, Child Maurice head he did cleeue. And he pricked itt on his swords poynt, Went singing there beside, And he rode till he came to that ladye faire, Wheras this ladye lyed. And sayes, Dost thou know Child Maurice head, If that thou dost itt see? And lapp itt soft, and kisse itt offt, Ffor thou louedst him better than mee.' But when shee looked on Child Maurice head, Shee neuer spake words but three: 'I neuer beare no child but one, And you haue slaine him trulye.' Sayes, Wicked be my merrymen all, I gaue meate, drinke, and clothe! But cold they not haue holden me When I was in all that wrath! 'Ffor I haue slaine one of the curteousest knights Thateuer bestrode a steed, Soe haue I done one [of] the fairest ladyes Thateuer bestrode a steed, Soe haue I done one [of] the fairest ladyes Thateuer ware womans weede!'
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83B.Tharrteuer ware womans weede!'
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CHILD NORYCE is a clever young man, He wavers wi the wind; His horse was silver-shod before, With the beaten gold behind. He called to his little man John, Saying, You don't see what I see; For O yonder I see the very first woman That ever loved me. 'Here is a glove, a glove,' he said, 'Lined with the silver grey; You may tell her to come to the merry greenwood, To speak to Child Nory. 'Here is a ring, a ring,' he says, 'It's all gold but the stane; You may tell her to come to the merry greenwood, And ask the leave o nane.' 'So well do I love your errand, my master, But far better do I love my life; O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castle, To betray away his wife?' 'O don't I give you meat,' he says, 'And don't I pay you fee? How dare you stop my errand?' he says; 'My orders you must obey.' O when he came to Lord Bernard's castle, He tinkled at the ring; Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself To let this little boy in? 'Here is a glove, a glove,' he says, 'Lined with the silver grey; You are bidden to come to the merry greenwood, To speak to Child Nory. 'Here is a ring, a ring,' he says, 'It's all gold but the stane; You are bidden to come to the merry greenwood, And ask the leave o nane.' Lord Barnard he was standing by, And an angry man was he: 'O little did I think there was a lord in the world My lady loved but me!' O he dressed himself in the holland smock, And garments that was gay, And he is away to the merry green-wood, To speak to Child Nory. Child Noryce sits on yonder tree, He whistles and he sings: 'O wae be to me,' says Child Noryce, 'Yonder my mother comes!' Child Noryce he came off the tree, His mother to take off the horse: 'Och alace, alace,' says Child Noryce, 'My mother was neer so gross!' Lord Barnard he had a little small sword, That hung low down by his knee; He cut the head off Child Noryce, And put the body on a tree. And when he came home to his castell, And to his ladie's hall, He threw the head into her lap, Saying, Lady, there's a ball! She turned up the bloody head, She kissed it frae cheek to chin: 'Far better do I love this bloody head Than all my royal kin. 'When I was in my father's castel, In my virginity, There came a lord into the North, Gat Child Noryce with me.' 'O wae be to thee, Lady Margaret,' he sayd, 'And an ill death may you die; For if you had told me he was your son, He had neer been slain by me.'
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BOB NORICE is to the grein-wud gane, He is awa wi the wind; His horse is siller-shod afore, In the shynand gowd ahind. He said unto his wee boy John, I sie what ye dinna sie; I see the [first] woman that I eer luvit, Or ever luvit me. 'Gae tak to hir this pair o gluvis, They're o the siller-gray, And tell her to cum to the merrie grein-wud An speik to Bob Norice. 'Gae tak to her this gay gowd ring, And it's aw gowd but the stane, And tell her to cum to the merrie grein-wud, And ask the leive o nane. 'Gae tak to her this braw manteil, It's a' silk but the sleive, And tell her to cum to the merrie green-wud, And ax nae bauld Barnet's leive.' 'I daurna gang to Lord Barnet's castel, I daurna gang for my lyfe; I daurna gang to Lord Barnet's castell, To twyne him o his wife.' 'Do I nae pay you gowd?' he said, 'Do I nae pay you fee? How daur you stand my bidding, Sir, Whan I bid you to flee?' 'Gif I maun gang to Lord Barnet's castel, Sae sair agane my will, I vow a vow, and I do protest, It sall be dune for ill.' But whan he came to Lord Barnet's castel He tinklet at the ring; Tha war nane sae ready as Lord Barnet himsell To let the wee calland in. 'What news, what news, my bonnie wee boy? What news hae ye to me?' 'Nae news, nae news, Lord Barnet,' he said, 'But you ladie I fain would see. 'Here is a pair o gluves to her, Thay'r o the silver gray; And tell her to cum to the merrie green-wud, And speik to Bob Norice. 'Here is a gay gowd ring to her, It's aw gowd but the stane; And she maun cum to the merrie green-wud, And speir the leive o nane. 'Here is a gay manteil to her, It's aw silk but the sleive; And she maun cum to the merrie grein-wud, And ask not bauld Barnet's leive.' Then out bespack the yellow nurse, Wi the babie on her knee, Sayand, Gif thay be cum frae Bob Norice, They are welcum to me. 'O haud your tung, ye yellow nurse, Aloud an I heir ye lie; For they're to Lord Barnet's lady, I trew that this be she.' Lord Barnet's to a dressing-room, And buskt him in woman's array, And he's awa to the merrie green-wud, To speik to Bob Norrice. Bob Norrice he sits on a tree, He is whissland and singand; Says, Merrie, merrie may my hert be, I see my mither cumand. Bob Norice he cam doun frae the trie, To help his mother to licht fra her horss; 'Och alace, alace,' says Bob Norice, 'My mither was neer sae gross!' mither was neer sae gross!' Lord Barnet had a not-brown sword, That hung down by his knee, And he has cut Bob Norice heid Aff frae his fair bodie. He tuke the bluidy head in his hand, And he brocht it to the ha, And flang it into his lady's lap, Sayand, Lady, there is a ba! She took the bluidy heid in her hand, And kisst it frae cheik to chin, Sayand, Better I lyke that weil faurit face Nor aw my royal kin. 'Whan I was in my father's bour, A' in my dignity, An Englis lord a visit came, Gat Bob Norice wi me.' Then out bespak Lord Barnet syne, And a wae, wae man was he, Sayand, Gif I had kent he was your son, He wuld neer been killit be me.
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GILL MORICE stood in stable-door, With red gold shined his weed; A bonnie boy him behind, Dressing a milk-white steed. 'Woe's me for you, maister, Your name it waxes wide; It is not for your rich, rich robes, Nor for your meikle pride, But all is for yon lord's ladie, She lives on Ithan side.' 'Here's to thee, my bonnie wee boy, That I pay meat and fee; You will run on to Ithan side An errand unto me.' 'If ye gar me that errand run, Sae sair against my will, I'll make a vow, and keep it true, I'll do your errand ill.' 'I fear nae ill of thee, boy, I fear nae ill of thee; I fearna ill of my bonnie boy, My sister's son are ye. 'Ye'll tak here this green manteel, It's lined with the frieze; Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood, To talk with Gill Morice. 'Ye'll tak here this sark o silk, Her ain hand sewed the sleeve; Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood, And ask not Burnard's leave.' When he gade to Ithan side They were hailing at the ba, And four and twenty gay ladyes They lookd ower castle wa. And four and twenty gay ladyes They lookd ower castle wa. 'God mak you safe, you ladies all, God mak you safe and sure; But Burnard's lady amang you all, My errand is to her. 'Ye'll tak here this green manteel, It's a' lined wi the frieze; Ye're bidden come to gude green-wood And speak to Gill Morice. 'Ye'll tak here this sark of silk, Your ain hand sewed the sleeve; Ye're bidden come to gude green-wood, And ask not Burnard's leave.' Up it stood the little nurice, She winked with her ee: 'Welcome, welcome, bonnie boy, With luve-tidings to me. 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye false nurice, Sae loud's I hear ye lie; It's to the lady of the house, I'm sure ye are not shee.' Then out and spoke him bold Burnard, Behind the door stood he: 'I'll go unto gude green-wood, And see what he may be. 'Come, bring to me the gowns of silk, Your petticoats so small, And I'll go on to gude green-wood, I'll try with him a fall.' Gill Morice stood in gude green-wood, He whistled and he sang: 'I think I see the woman come That I have loved lang.' 'What now, what now, ye Gill Morice, What now, and how do ye? How lang hae ye my lady luved? This day come tell to me.' 'First when I your lady loved, In green-wood amang the thyme, I wot she was my first fair love Or ever she was thine. 'First when I your lady loved, In green-wood amang the flouirs, I wot she was my first fair love Or ever she was yours.' He's taen out a lang, lang brand That he was used to wear, And he's taen aff Gill Morice head, And put it on a spear: The soberest boy in a' the court Gill Morice head did bear. He's put it in a braid basin, And brocht it in the ha, And laid it in his lady's lap; Said, Lady, tak a ba! 'Play ye, play ye, my lady,' he said, 'Play ye frae ha to bower; Play ye wi Gill Morice head, He was your paramour! 'He was not my paramour, He was my son indeed; I got him in my mother's bower, And in my maiden -weed. 'I got him in my mother's bower, Wi meikle sin and shame; I brocht him up in good green-wood, Got mony a shower o rain. 'But I will kiss his bluidy head, And I will clap his chin; I'll make a vow, and keep it true, I'll never kiss man again. 'Oftimes I by his cradle sat, And fond to see him sleep; But I may walk about his grave, And fond to see him sleep; But I may walk about his grave, The saut tears for to weep.' 'Bring cods, bring cods to my ladye, Her heart is full of wae;' 'None of your cods, Burnet,' she says, 'But lay me on the strae.' 'Pox on you, my lady fair, That wudna telled it me; If I had known he was your son, He had not been slain by me; And for ae penny ye wud hae gien I wud hae gien him three.' And for ae penny ye wud hae gien I wud hae gien him three.' 'Keep weel your land, Burnet,' she said, 'Your land and white monie; There's land eneuch in Norroway Lies heirless I wot the day.' The one was killed in the mornin air, His mother died at een, And or the mornin bells was rung The threesome were a' gane.
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CHIELD MORRICE was an earl's son, His name it waxed wide; It was nae for his parentage, Nor yet his meikle pride, But it was for a lady gay, That lived on Carron side. 'O Willie, my man, my errand gang, And you maun rin wi speed; When other boys run on their feet, On horseback ye shall ride. 'O master dear, I love you weel, And I love you as my life, But I will not go to Lord Barnard's ha, For to tryst forth his wife. 'For the baron he's a man of might, He neer could bide a taunt, And ye shall see or it be late How meikle ye'll hae to vaunt.' 'O you must rin my errand, Willie, And you must rin wi speed, And if you don't obey my high command I'll gar your body bleed. 'And here it is a gay manteel, It's a' gowd but the hem; Bid her come speak to Chield Morice, Bring naebody but her lane. 'And here it is a holland smock, her own hand sewed the sleeve; Bid her come speak to Chield Morice, Ask not the baron's leave.' 'Since I must run this errand for you, So sore against my will, I've made a vow, and I'll keep it true, It shall be done for ill.' For he did not ask the porter's leave, Tho he stood at the gate, But straight he ran to the big hall, Where great folk sat at meat. 'Good hallow, gentle sir and dame, My errand canno wait; Dame, ye must go speak to Chield Morice, Before it be too late. 'And here it is a gay manteel, It's a' goud but the hem; Ye must come speak to Child Morice, Bring nae body but your lane. 'And here it is a holland smock, Your ain hand sewed the sleeve; You must come speak to Chield Morice, Ask not the baron's leave.' O aye she stamped wi her foot, And winked wi her ee, But a' that she could say or do, Forbidden he wad na be. 'It's surely to my bouir-woman, It canna be to me:' 'I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady, And I trow that thou art she.' Out then spak the wylie nurse, Wi the bairn just on her knee: 'If this be come fra Chield Morice, It's dear welcome to me.' 'Thou lies, thou lies, thou wylie nurse, Sae loud's I hear thee lie; I brought it to Lord Barnard's lady, And I trow thou binna she.' I brought it to Lord Barnard's lady, And I trow thou binna she.' Then up and rose him the bold baron, And an angry man was he; He took the table wi his foot, And keppd it wi his knee, Till silver cup and ezar dish In flinders they did flee. 'Go gring me one of thy cleeding, That hings upon the pin, And I'll awa to the good green-wood, And crack wi your leman.' 'I would have you stay at home, Lord Barnard, I would have you stay at home; Never wyte a man for violence douce That never thought you wrong.' And when he to the green-wood went, No body saw he there But Chield Morice, on a milk-white steed, Combing down his yellow hair. Chield Morice sat in the gay green-wood, He whistled and he sang: 'O what means a' thir folks coming? My mother tarries lang.' mother tarries lang.' 'No wonder, no wonder, Chield Morice,' he said, 'My lady loved thee weel; For the whitest bit of my body Is blacker than thy heel. 'But nevertheless now, Chield Morice, For a' thy gay beautie, O nevertheless, Chield Morice, Thy head shall go with me.' He had a rapier by his side, Hung low down by his knee; He struck Chield Morrice on the neck, Till aff his head did flee. Then he's taen up that bloody head, And stuck it on a spear, And the meanest man in a' his train Gat Chield Morice head to bear. The lady looked owre the castle-wa, Wi meikle dool and down, And there she saw Chield Morice head, Coming trailing to the town. But he's taen up this bluidy head, And dashed it gainst the wa: 'Come down, come down, you ladies fair, And play at this foot-ba.' Then she's taen up this bluidy head, And an ill deid may thou die! And she kissed it both cheek and chin: 'I would rather hae a kiss o that bluidy head Than a' thy earldom. 'I would rather hae a kiss o that bluidy head Than a' thy earldom. 'I would rather hae a kiss o that bluidy head Than a' thy earldom. 'I got him in my father's bouir, Wi meikle sin and shame, And I brought him up in gay green-wood, Beneath the heavy rain. 'Many a day have I rockd thy cradle, And fondly seen thee sleep, But now I'll go about thy grave, And sore, sore will I weep.' 'O woe be to thee, thou wild woman, And an ill deid may thou die! For if ye had tauld me he was your son, He should hae ridden and gane wi me.' 'O hold your tongue, you bold baron, And an ill death may ye die! He had lands and rents enew of his ain, He needed nane fra thee.' 'Then I'll curse the hand that did the deed, The heart that thought him ill, The feet that carried me speedilie This comely youth to kill.' This lady she died gin ten o'clock, Lord Barnard died gin twall, And bonnie boy now, Sweet Willie, What's come o him I canna tell.
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83F.at'scome o him I canna tell.
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GIL MORRICE was an erles son, His name it waxed wide; It was nae for his great riches, Nor yet his mickle pride, Bot it was for a lady gay, That livd on Carron side. 'Whair sall I get a bonny boy, That will win hose and shoen, That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha, And bid his lady cum? 'And ye maun rin errand, Willie, And ye may rin wi pride; When other boys gae on their foot, On horseback ye sall ride.' 'O no! Oh no! my master dear, I dare nae for my life; I'll no gae to the bauld baron's, For to triest furth his wife.' 'My bird Willie, my boy Willie, My dear Willie,' he sayd, 'How can ye strive against the stream? For I sall be obeyd.' 'Bot, O my master dear,' he cry'd, 'In grene-wod ye're your lain; Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede, For fear ye should be tain.' Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede, For fear ye should be tain.' fear ye should be tain.' fear ye should be tain.' 'Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha, Bid hir cum here wi speid; If ye refuse my heigh command, I'll gar your body bleid. 'Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 'Tis a' gowd but the hem; Bid hir cum to the gude grene-wode, And bring nane bot hir lain. 'And there it is, a silken sarke, Hir ain hand sewd the sleive; And bid her cum to Gill Morice, Speir nae bauld baron's leave.' 'Yes, I will gae your black errand, Though it be to your cost; Sen ye by me will nae be warnd, In it ye sall find frost. 'The baron he's a man of might, He neir could bide to taunt; As ye will see, before it's nicht, How sma ye hae to vaunt. 'And sen I maun your errand rin, Sae sair against my will, I'se mak a vow, and keip it trow, It sall be done for ill.' And when he came to broken brigue, He bent his bow and swam; And when [he] came to grass growing, Set down his feet and ran. And when he came to Barnard's ha, Would neither chap nor ca, Bot set his bent bow to his breist, And lichtly lap the wa. He wauld nae tell the man his errand, Though he stude at the gait; Bot straiht into the ha he cam, Whair they were set at meit. 'Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame, My message winna waite; Dame, ye maun to the gude grene-wod, Before that it be late. 'Ye're bidden tak this gay mantel, 'Tis a' gowd bot the hem; You maun gae to the gude grene-wode, Evn by your sel alane. 'And there it is, a silken sarke, Your ain hand sewd the sleive; Ye maun gae speik to Gill Morice, Speir nae bauld baron's leave.' The lady stamped wi hir foot, And winked wi hir ee; But a' that she coud say or do, Forbidden he wad nae bee. 'It's surely to my bowr-woman; It neir could be to me:' 'I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady; I trow that ye be she.' Then up and spack the wylie nurse, The bairn upon hir knee: 'If it be cum frae Gill Morice, It's deir welcum to mee.' 'Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse, Sae loud's I heire ye lee; I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady; I trow ye be nae shee.' Then up and spack the bauld baron, An angry man was hee; He's tain the table wi his foot, Sae has he wi his knee, Till siller cup and ezar dish In flinders he gard flee. 'Gae bring a robe of your cliding, That hings upon the pin, And I'll gae to the gude grene-wode, And speik wi your lemman.' 'O bide at hame, now, Lord Barnard, I warde ye bide at hame; Neir wyte a man for violence That neir wate ye wi nane.' Gil Morice sate in gude grene-wode, He whistled and he sang: 'O what mean a' the folk coming? My mother tarries lang.' The baron came to the grene-wode, Wi mickle dule and care, And there he first spied Gill Morice, Kameing his yellow hair. 'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice, My lady loed thee weel; The fairest part of my body Is blacker than thy heel. 'Yet neir the less now, Gill Morice, For a' thy great bewty, Ye's rew the day ye eir was born; That head sall gae wi me.' Now he has drawn his trusty brand, And slaited on the strae, And thro Gill Morice fair body He's gard cauld iron gae. And he has tain Gill Morice head, And set it on a speir; The meanest man in a' his train Has gotten that head to bear. And he has tain Gill Morice up, Laid him across his steid, And brocht him to his painted bowr, And laid him on a bed. The lady sat on castil-wa, Beheld baith dale and doun, And there she saw Gill Morice head Cum trailing to the toun. 'Far better I loe that bluidy head, Bot and that yellow hair, Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands, As they lig here and thair.' And she has tain hir Gill Morice, And kissd baith mouth and chin: 'I was once as fow of Gill Morice As the hip is o the stean. 'I got ye in my father's house, Wi mickle sin and shame; I brocht thee up in gude green-wode, Under the heavy rain. 'Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, And fondly seen thee sleip; Bot now I gae about thy grave, The saut tears for to weip.' And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, And syne his bluidy chin: 'O better I loe my Gill Morice Than a' my kith and kin!' 'Away, away, ye ill woman, And an il deith mait ye dee! Gin I had kend he'd bin your son, He'd neir bin slain for mee.'
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GIL MORRICE sat in silver wood, He whistled and he sang: 'Whar sall I get a bonny boy My errand for to gang?' He ca'd his foster-brither Willie: 'Come, win ye hose and shoon, And gae unto Lord Barnard's ha, And bid his lady come.'
And she has taen the bloody head, And cast it i the brim, Syne gathered up her robes o green, And fast she followed him.