# The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 6/Chapter 182

A
I WILL sing, if ye will hearken, If ye will hearken unto me; The king has taen a poor prisoner, The wanton laird o Young Logie. Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel, Carmichael's the keeper o the key; And May Margaret's lamenting sair, A' for the love of Young Logie. 'Lament, lament na, May Margaret, And of your weeping let me be; For ye maun to the king himsell, To seek the life of Young Logie.' May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding, And she has curld back her yellow hair: 'If I canna get Young Logie's life, Farewell to Scotland for evermair!' When she came before the king, She knelit lowly on her knee: 'O what's the matter, May Margaret? And what needs a' this courtesie?' 'A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg o thee, And the first boon that I come to crave Is to grant me the life of Young Logie.' 'O na, O na, May Margaret, Forsooth, and so it mauna be; For a' the gowd o fair Scotland Shall not save the life of Young Logie.' But she has stown the king's redding-kaim, Likewise the queen her wedding knife, And sent the tokens to Carmichael, To cause Young Logie get his life. She sent him a purse o the red gowd, Another o the white monie; She sent him a pistol for each hand, And bade him shoot when he gat free. When he came to the Tolbooth stair, There he let his volley flee; It made the king in his chamber start, Een in the bed where he might be. 'Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a', And bid Carmichael come speak to me; For I'll lay my life the pledge o that That yon's the shot o Young Logie.' When Carmichael came before the king, He fell low down upon his knee; The very first word that the king spake Was, Where's the laird of Young Logie? Carmichael turnd him round about, I wot the tear blinded his ee: 'There came a token frae your Grace Has taen away the laird frae me.' 'Hast thou playd me that, Carmichael? And hast thou playd me that?' quoth he; 'The morn the Justice Court's to stand, And Logie's place ye maun supplie.' Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower, Even as fast as he may dree: 'O if Young Logie be within, Tell him to come and speak with me.' May Margaret turnd her round about, I wot a loud laugh laughed she: 'The egg is chippd, the bird is flown, Ye'll see nae mair of Young Logie.' The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith, The tother at the Queen's Ferrie, And she's gotten a father to her bairn, The wanton laird of Young Logie.
[A2]: The Laird of Logie
[A2].1I will sing, if ye will harken, An ye wad listen unto me; I'll tell ye of a merry passage Of the wanton laird of Young Logie. [AYoung Logie's laid in Edinborough chapel, Carmichaell's keeper of the key; I heard a may lamenting sair, All for the laird of Young Logie. [A'Lament, lament na, May Margret, And o your weeping let me be; For ye maun to the king your sell, And ask the life of Young Logie.' [AMay Margaret has kilted her green cleeding, And she's currld back her yellow hair, And she's away to the king hersell, And adieu to Scotland for ever mair! [AWhen she came before the king, She fell low down on her knee: 'It's what's your will wi me, May Margret, And what makes all this courtesey?' 'Naething, naething, my sovreign liege, But grant me the life of Young Logie.' [A'O no, O no, May Margret, No, in sooth it maun na be; For the morn, or I taste meat or drink, Hee hanged shall Young Logie be.' [AShe has stolen the king's reeding-comb, But an the queen her wedding-knife, And she has sent it to Carmichaell, To cause Young Logie come by life. [AShe sent him a purse of the red gold, Another of the white money, And sent him a pistol into each hand, And bade him shoot when he got fra. [AWhen he came to the Tolbooth stair, There he loot his volley flee, Which made the king in his chamber start, Even in the chamber where he lay. [A'Gae out, gae out, my merrie men, And gar Carmichael come speake wi me, For I'll lay my life the pledge of that, That yon's the volley of Young Logie.' [AWhen Carmichael came before the king, He fell low down on his knee; The very first word that the king spake, 'How dois the laird o Young Logie?' [ACarmichael turnd him round about, A wait the salt tear blint his eye: 'There came a tacken frae the king Has taen the laird awa frae me.' [A'Hast thou playd me that, Carmichael? Hast thou playd me that?' quo he; 'The morn the Justice Court's to stand, And Logie's place ye maun supply.' [ACarmichal's away to May Margr[e]t's bower, Een as fast as he may dree: 'It's if Young Logie be within, Tell him to come speak to me.' [AMay Margret's turnd her round about, A wait a loud laughter gae she: 'The egg is cheeped and the bird is flown, And seek ye the laird of Young Logie.' [AThe one is sheppd at the pier o Leith, The other at the Queen's Ferry, And she has gotten a father to her bairn, The wanton laird of Young [Logie].
B
O LISTEN, gude peopell, to my tale, Listen to what I tel to thee; The king has taiken a poor prisoner, The wanton laird of Ochiltrie. When news came to our guidly queen, Sche sicht, and said right mournfullie, 'O what will cum of Lady Margret! Wha beirs sick luve to Ochiltrie.' Lady Margret tore hir yellow hair When as the queen tald hir the saim: 'I wis that I had neir bin born, Nor neir had knawn Ochiltrie's naim!' 'Fie, na!' quoth the queen, 'That maunna be; Fie, na! that maunna be; I'll fynd ye out a better way To saif the lyfe of Ochiltrie.' The queen sche trippit up the stair, And lowlie knielt upon hir knie: 'The first boon which I cum to craive Is the life of gentel Ochiltrie.' 'O iff you had askd me castels or towirs, I wad hae gin thaim, twa or thrie; Bot a' the monie in fair Scotland Winna buy the lyfe of Ochiltrie.' The queen sche trippit down the stair, And down she gade richt mournfullie: 'It's a' the monie in fair Scotland Winna buy the lyfe of Ochiltrie!' Lady Margaret tore her yellow hair When as the queen tald hir the saim: 'I'll tak a knife and end my lyfe, And be in the grave as soon as him!' 'Ah, na! Fie, na!' quoth the queen, 'Fie, na! Fie, na! this maunna be; I'll set ye on a better way To loose and set Ochiltrie frie.' The queen sche slippit up the stair, And sche gaid up richt privatlie, And sche has stoun the prison-keys, And gane and set Ochiltrie frie. And sche's gien him a purse of gowd, And another of whyt monie; Sche's gien him twa pistoles by's syde, Saying to him, Shute, when ye win frie. And when he cam to the queen's window, Whaten a joyfou shute gae he! 'Peace be to our royal queen, And peace be in her companie!' 'O whaten a voyce is that?' quoth the king, 'Whaten a voyce is that?' quoth he; 'Whaten a voyce is that?' quoth the king; 'I think it's the voyce of Ochiltrie. 'Call to me a' my gaolours, Call thaim by thirtie and by thrie; Whairfoir the morn, at twelve a clock, It's hangit schall they ilk ane be.' 'O didna ye send your keyis to us? Ye sent thaim be thirtie and be thrie, And wi thaim sent a strait command To set at lairge young Ochiltrie.' 'Ah, na! Fie, na!' quoth the queen, 'Fie, my dear luve, this maunna be! And iff ye're gawn to hang thaim a', Indeed ye maun begin wi me.' The tane was schippit at the pier of Leith, The ither at the Queen's Ferrie, And now the lady has gotten hir luve, The winsom laird of Ochiltrie.
C
THE young laird of Logie is to prison cast; Carmichael's the keeper of the key; Lady Margaret, the queen's cousin, is very sick, And it's all for love of Young Logie. She's into the queen's chamber gone, She has kneeld low down on her knee; Says she, You must go to the king yourself; It's all for a pardon to Young Logie. The queen is unto the king's chamber gone, She has kneeld low down on her knee: 'O what is the matter, my gracious queen? And what means all this courtesie? 'Have not I made thee queen of fair Scotland? The queen of England I trow thou be; Have I not made thee my wedded wife? Then what needs all this courtesie?' 'You have made me queen of [fair] Scotland, The queen of England I surely be; Since you have made me your wedded wife, Will you grant a pardon for Young Logie?' The king he turned him right round about, I think an angry man was he: 'The morrow, before it is twelve o'clock, O hangd shall the laird of Logie be.' The queen she's into her chamber gone, Amongst her maries, so frank and free; 'You may weep, you may weep, Margaret,' she says, 'For hanged must the laird of Logie be.' She has torn her silken scarf and hood, And so has she her yellow hair: 'Now fare you well, both king and queen, And adieu to Scotland for ever mair!' She has put off her goun of silk, And so has she her gay clothing: 'Go fetch me a knife, and I'll kill myself, Since the laird of Logie is not mine.' Then out bespoke our gracious queen, And she spoke words most tenderlie; 'Now hold your hand, Lady Margaret,' she said, 'And I'll try to set Young Logie free.' She's up into the king's chamber gone, And among his nobles so free; 'Hold away, hold away!' says our gracious king, 'No more of your pardons for Young Logie. 'Had you but askd me for houses and land, I would have given you castles three; Or anything else shall be at your command, But only a pardon for Young Logie.' 'Hold your hand now, my sovereign liege, And of your anger let it be; For the innocent blood of Lady Margret It will rest on the head of thee and me.' The king and queen are gone to their bed, But as he was sleeping so quietly, She has stole the keys from below his head, And has sent to set Young Logie free. Young Logie he's on horseback got, Of chains and fetters he's got free; As he passd by the king's window, There he has fired vollies three. The king he awakend out of his sleep, Out of his bed came hastilie; Says, I'll lay all my lands and rents That yonder's the laird of Logie free.' The king has sent to the prison strong, He has calld for his keepers three; Says, How does all your prisoners? And how does the young laird of Logie? 'Your Majesty sent me your wedding-ring, With your high command to set him free;' 'Then tomorrow, before that I eat or drink, I surely will hang you keepers three.' Then out bespoke our gracious queen, And she spoke words most tenderlie; 'If ever you begin to hang a man for this, Your Majesty must begin with me.' The one took shipping at [the pier of] Leith, The other at the Queen's Ferrie; Lady Margaret has gotten the man she loves, I mean the young laird of Logie.
D
PRETTY is the story I hae to tell, Pretty is the praisin o itsel, An pretty is the prisner oor king's tane, The rantin young laird o Logie. Has he brunt? or has he slain? Or has he done any injurie? Oh no, no, he's done nothing at all, But stown a kiss frae the queen's marie. Ladie Margaret cam doon the stair, Wringin her hands an tearin her hair; Cryin, Oh, that ever I to Scotland cam, Aye to see Young Logie dee! 'Had your tongue noo, Lady Margaret, An a' your weepin lat a bee! For I'll gae to the king my sell, An plead for life to Young Logie.' 'First whan I to Scotland cam, You promised to gie me askens three; The first then o these askens is Life for the young laird o Logie.' 'If you had asked house or lands, They suld hae been at your command; But the morn, ere I taste meat or drink, High hanged sall Young Logie be.' Lady Margaret cam doon the stair, Wringin her hands an tearin her hair; Cryin, Oh, that ever I to Scotland cam, A' to see Young Logie dee! 'Haud your tongue noo, Lady Margaret, An a' your weepin lat a bee! For I'll counterfiet the king's hand-write, An steal frae him his right-hand gloe, An send them to Pitcairn's wa's, A' to lat Young Logie free.' She counterfieted the king's hand-write, An stole frae him his richt hand gloe, An sent them to Pitcairn's wa's, A' to let Young Logie free. The king luikit owre his castle-wa, Was luikin to see what he cald see: 'My life to wad an my land to pawn, Yonder comes the young laird o Logie!' 'Pardon, oh pardon! my lord the king, Aye I pray you pardon me; For I counterfieted your hand-write, An stole frae you your richt hand gloe, An sent them to Pitcairn's wa's, A' to set Young Logie free.' 'If this had been done by laird or lord, Or by baron of high degree, I'se mak it sure, upon my word, His life suld hae gane for Young Logie. 'But since it is my gracious queen, A hearty pardon we will gie, An for her sake we'll free the loon, The rantin young laird o Logie.'
E
MAY MARGARET sits in the queen's bouir, Knicking her fingers ane be ane, Cursing the day that she ere was born, Or that she ere heard o Logie's name.