Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England Part 22

'If she's been sick, and like to die, What makes her wear the gold sae high?'

When came the Carl to the lady's yett, He rudely, rudely rapped thereat.

'Now where is the lady of this hall?'

'She's out with her maids a playing at the ball.'

'Ha, ha, ha! ye are all mista'en, Ye may count your maidens owre again.

'I met her far beyond the lea With the young Earl Brand his leman to be.'

Her father of his best men armed fifteen, And they're ridden after them bidene.

The lady looked owre her left shoulder then, Says, 'O Earl Brand we are both of us ta'en.'

'If they come on me one by one, You may stand by till the fights be done; 'But if they come on me one and all, You may stand by and see me fall.'

They came upon him one by one, Till fourteen battles he has won; And fourteen men he has them slain, Each after each upon the plain.

But the fifteenth man behind stole round, And dealt him a deep and a deadly wound.

Though he was wounded to the deid, He set his lady on her steed.

They rode till they came to the river Doune, And there they lighted to wash his wound.

'O, Earl Brand, I see your heart's blood!'

'It's nothing but the glent and my scarlet hood.'

They rode till they came to his mother's yett, So faint and feebly he rapped thereat.

'O, my son's slain, he is falling to swoon, And it's all for the sake of an English loon.'

'O, say not so, my dearest mother, But marry her to my youngest brother - 'To a maiden true he'll give his hand, Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie.

To the king's daughter o' fair England, To a prize that was won by a slain brother's brand, I' the brave nights so early!'

Ballad: THE JOVIAL HUNTER OF BROMSGROVE; OR, THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS. (TRADITIONAL.)

[The following ballad has long been popular in Worcestershire and some of the adjoining counties. It was printed for the first time by Mr. Allies of Worcester, under the t.i.tle of The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove; but amongst the peasantry of that county, and the adjoining county of Warwick, it has always been called The Old Man and his Three Sons--the name given to a fragment of the ballad still used as a nursery song in the north of England, the chorus of which slightly varies from that of the ballad. See post, p. 250.

The t.i.tle of The Old Man and his Three Sons is derived from the usage of calling a ballad after the first line--a practice that has descended to the present day. In Shakspeare's comedy of As You Like It there appears to be an allusion to this ballad. Le Beau says, -

There comes an old man and his three sons,

to which Celia replies,

I could match this beginning with an old tale.--i. 2.

Whether The Jovial Hunter belongs to either Worcestershire or Warwickshire is rather questionable. The probability is that it is a north country ballad connected with the family of Bolton, of Bolton, in Wensleydale. A tomb, said to be that of Sir Ryalas Bolton, the Jovial Hunter, is shown in Bromsgrove church, Worcestershire; but there is no evidence beyond tradition to connect it with the name or deeds of any 'Bolton;' indeed it is well known that the tomb belongs to a family of another name. In the following version are preserved some of the peculiarities of the Worcestershire dialect.]

Old Sir Robert Bolton had three sons, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; And one of them was Sir Ryalas, For he was a jovial hunter.

He ranged all round down by the wood side, Wind well thy horn, good hunter, Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied, For he was a jovial hunter.

'Oh, what dost thee mean, fair lady,' said he, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; 'The wild boar's killed my lord, and has thirty men gored, And thou beest a jovial hunter.'

'Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for to see?'

Wind well thy horn, good hunter; 'Oh, thee blow a blast and he'll come unto thee, As thou beest a jovial hunter.'

Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, and south, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; And the wild boar then heard him full in his den, As he was a jovial hunter.

Then he made the best of his speed unto him, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; [Swift flew the boar, with his tusks smeared with [gore], {11} To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.

Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along, To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.

'Oh, what dost thee want of me?' wild boar, said he, {12} Wind well thy horn, good hunter; 'Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for thee, For I am the jovial hunter.'

Then they fought four hours in a long summer day, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; Till the wild boar fain would have got him away From Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.

Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with might, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; And he fairly cut the boar's head off quite, For he was a jovial hunter.

Then out of the wood the wild woman flew, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; 'Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew, For thou beest a jovial hunter.

'There are three things, I demand them of thee,'

Wind well thy horn, good hunter; 'It's thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady, As thou beest a jovial hunter.'

'If these three things thou dost ask of me,'

Wind well thy horn, good hunter; 'It's just as my sword and thy neck can agree, For I am a jovial hunter.'

Then into his long locks the wild woman flew, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; Till she thought in her heart to tear him through, Though he was a jovial hunter.

Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword again, Wind well thy horn, good hunter, And he fairly split her head into twain, For he was a jovial hunter.

In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth lie, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; And the wild boar's head is pictured thereby, Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.

Ballad: LADY ALICE.

[This old ballad is regularly published by the stall printers. The termination resembles that of Lord Lovel and other ballads. See Early Ballads, Ann. Ed. p. 134. An imperfect traditional copy was printed in Notes and Queries.]

Lady Alice was sitting in her bower window, At midnight mending her quoif; And there she saw as fine a corpse As ever she saw in her life.

'What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall?

What bear ye on your shoulders?'