# Tragical history of Gill Morice (4)

THE
TRAGICAL HISTORY
OF
GILL MORICE,
AN
ANCIENT BALLAD.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
Gill Morice.
Gill Morice was an Earl’s son, his name it waxed wide; It was nae for his great riches, nor yet his meikle pride. His face was fair lang was his hair, in the wild woods he staid.
But his fame was by a fair lady,
that liv’d on Carron side—
Where will I get a bonny boy that will win hose and shoon That will gae to Lord Barnard’s ha’, and bid his lady come Ye maun rin this errand, Willie, and maun rin wi’ pride, When other boys gae on their feet, on horseback ye shall ride
O no o no my master dear I dare not for my life, I’ll no gae to the bauld Baron’s for to trvst forth his wife My bird Willie, my boy willie, my dear willie he said, How can you strive against the stream, for I shall be obey’d.
But oh my master dear he cried
in green wood ye’re your lane Gi’e o er sic thoughts I would ye red. for fear ye should be taken ​Haste haste I say gae to the ha’;
and bid her come here wi speed; If ye refuse my high command I’ll gar thy body bleed.
Gae bid her take this gay mantle. tis a‘ gowd but the hem; Bid her come to the good green wood, and bring nane but her lane. And there it is a silken sark; her aio hand sew d the sleeve And bid her come to Gill Morice, speir nae bauld Baron’s leave.
Yes, I will gae your black errand, though it be to my cost; Sin ye by me wid nae be warn d in it ye shall find frost The Baron he’s a man of might, he ne’er could bide a taunt As ye shall see before its night how sma’ ye ha’e to vaun,
Now sin I maun your errand rin, sair sair against my will Ise make a vow and keep it true, it shall be done for ill And when he came to broken brig he bent his bow and swarm And when he came to grass growing, set down his feet and ran
​And when he came to Barnard’s ha‘ wou d neither chap nor ca‘ But set his bent how to his breas‘ and lightly lap the wa‘ He would tel nae man his errand, though twa stood at the gate, But straight into the ha‘ he came, whar grit folks sat at meat
Hail hail my gentle sire and dame, my message winna wait Dame ye maun to the green wood gang before that it be late
Ye’re bidden take this gay mantle it’s a‘ gowd but the hem Ye maun go to the good green wood, e‘en by yourself alane.
There it is a silken sark your ain hand sew‘d the sleeve, Ye maun come speak to Gill Morice spier nae bauld Barons leave The lady stamped wi her foot, and winked wi her ee, But all that she could do or say, forbidden he wouldna be.
Its surely to my bower woman, It ne’er could be to me, Then up and spake the wyly nurse, (the bairn upon her knee,) ​If it be come from Gill Morice, ’tis dear welcome to me.
Ye lied, ye lied ye filthy nurse sae loud s I hear you lie;
I brought it to Lord Barnard’s Lady,
I trow ye be not she. Then up and spake the bauld Baron,
an angry man was he; He’s ta’en the table wi’ his foot, in flinders gart a’ flee Gae bring a robe of yon cleiding,
that hangs upon the pin.
And I’ll gae to the good green wood wood and speak with your leman. O bide at hame now Lord Barnard
I warn ye, bide at hame. ne’er wyte a man for violence,
that ne’er wyte ye wi’ nane. Gill Morice sits in good green wood.
he whistled and he sang;
O what mean a’ these folk coming? my mother tarries land. And when he came to good green wood, wi’ meikle dull and care, It’s there he saw brave Gill Morice, kaming his yellow hair. Nae wonder, nae wonder Gill Morice, my lady lo’ed you weel,
​The fairest part of my body is blacker than thy heel; Yet ne ertheless, now Gill Morice for a’ thy great beauty, Ye’s rue the day that ye was born, that head shall gae with me Now he has drawn his trusty brand, and slait it on the straw,
And through Gill Morice’s fair body he’s gard can d iron gae And he has ta en Gill Morice’s head, and set it on a spear; The meanest man in a’ his train, has got the head to bear, And he has ta en Gill Morice up, laid him across his steed
And brought him to his painted bower,
and laid him on a bed. The lady sat on castle wa’, beheld baith dale and down, And there she saw Gill Morice head come trailing to the town Far mair I lo’e that bloody bead,
but and that bloody hair,
Than Lord Barnard and a’ his lands, as they lie here and there And she has ta’en Gill Morice:
and kiss d baith mouth and chin; ​I once was as fu’ of Gill Morice, as hip is o the stane,
I got thee in my father’s house
wi muckle grief and shame .
And brought thee up in green wood,
under the heavy rain. Oft have I by thy cradle sat, and soundly seen thee sleep, But now I’ll go about thy grave, the sa t tears for to weep And first she kiss d his bloody cheek and syne his bloody chin;
Better I lo’e my Gill Morice, than a’ my kith and kin Away away ye ill woman an ill death may you die, Gin I had kenn’d he d been your son, he’d ne er been slain by me. Upbraid me not Lord Barnard, upbraid me not for shame.
Wi that same spear oh pierce my heart and put me out of pain; Since naething but Gill Morice’s head thy jealous rage could quell Let that same hand now take her life, that ne’er to thee did ill. ​To me nae after days nor nights, will e’er be safe or kind;
I’ll fill the air with heavy sighs
and greet till I am blind. Enough of blood by me’s been spilt, seek not your death from me; I rather it had been mysel,
than either him or thee
With wae so wae I hear your ’plaint
sair sair I rue the deed, That e’er this cursed hand of mine Did gar his body bleed Dry up your tears my winsome dame
Ye ne’er can heal the wound You see his head upon my spear,
his heart’s blood on the ground.
I curse the hand that did the deed, the heart that thought the ill The feet that bore me wi sie speed,
the comely youth to kill;
I’ll aye lament for Gill Morice,
as gin he were mine ain. I’ll ne’er forget the dreary day on which the youth was slain.
FINIS
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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