Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border Volume I Part 17

"Thir landis are MINE!" the Outlaw said; "I ken nae king in Christentie; Frae Soudron[107] I this Foreste wan, When the king nor his knightis were not to see."

"He desyres you'l c.u.m to Edinburgh, And hauld of him this Foreste frie; And, gif ye refuse to do this, He'll conquess baith thy landis and thee.

He hath vow'd to cast thy castell down, And mak a widowe o' thy gaye ladye;

"He'll hang thy merryemen, payr by payr, In ony frith where he may them finde."

"Aye, by my troth!" the Outlaw said, "Than wald I think me far behinde.

"E'er the king my feir countrie get, This land that's nativest to me!

Mony o' his n.o.bilis sall be cauld, Their ladyes sall be right wearie."

Then spak his ladye, feir of face, She seyd, "Without consent of me, That an Outlaw suld c.u.m befor a King; I am right rad[108] of treasonrie.

Bid him be gude to his lordis at hame, For Edinburgh my lord sall nevir see."

James Boyd tuik his leave o' the Outlaw kene, To Edinburgh boun is he; When James he cam befor the king, He knelit lowlie on his kne.

"Wellc.u.m, James Boyd!" seyd our n.o.bil king; "What Foreste is Ettricke Foreste frie?"

"Ettricke Foreste is the feirest foreste That evir man saw wi' his e'e.

"There's the dae, the rae, the hart, the hynde, And of a' wild beastis grete plentie; There's a pretty castell of lyme and stane; O gif it stands not pleasauntlie!

"There's in the forefront o' that castell, Twa unicorns, sae bra' to see; There's the picture of a knight, and a ladye bright, Wi' the grene hollin abune their brie.

"There the Outlaw keepis five hundred men; He keepis a royalle c.u.mpanie!

His merrymen in ae livery clad, O' the Linkome grene sae gaye to see:

"He and his ladye in purple clad; O! gin they live not royallie!

"He says, yon Foreste is his awin; He wan it frae the Southronie; Sae as he wan it, sae will he keep it, Contrair all kingis in Christentie."

"Gar warn me Perthshire, and Angus baith; Fife up and down, and the Louthians three, And graith my horse!" said the n.o.bil king, "For to Ettricke Foreste hie will I me."

Then word is gane the Outlaw till, In Ettricke Foreste, where dwelleth he, That the king was c.u.ming to his c.u.n.trie, To conquess baith his landis and he.

"I mak a vow," the Outlaw said, "I mak a vow, and that trulie, Were there but three men to tak my pairt; Yon king's c.u.ming full deir suld be!"

Then messengers he called forth, And bade them hie them speedilye-- "Ane of ye gae to Halliday, The laird of the Corhead is he.

"He certain is my sister's son; Bid him c.u.m quick and succour me!

The king c.u.ms on for Ettricke Foreste, And landless men we a' will be."

"What news? What news?" said Halliday, "Man, frae thy master unto me?"

"Not as ye wad; seeking your aide; The king's his mortal enemie."

"Aye, by my troth!" said Halliday, "Even for that it repenteth me; For gif he lose feir Ettricke Foreste, He'll tak feir Moffatdale frae me.

"I'll meet him wi' five hundred men, And surely mair, if mae may be; And before he gets the Foreste feir, We a' will die on Newark Lee!"

The Outlaw call'd a messenger, And bid him hie him speedilye, To Andrew Murray of c.o.c.kpool-- "That man's a deir cousin to me; Desyre him c.u.m, and mak me ayd, With a' the power that he may be."

"It stands me hard," Andrew Murray said, Judge gif it stands na hard wi' me; To enter against a king wi' crown, And set my landis in jeopardie!

Yet, if I c.u.m not on the day, Surely at night he sall me see."

To Sir James Murray of Traquair, A message cam right speedilye-- "What news? What news?" James Murray said, "Man, frae thy master unto me?"

"What neids I tell? for weell ye ken, The king's his mortal enemie; And now he is c.u.ming to Ettricke Foreste, And landless men ye a' will be."

"And, by my trothe," James Murray said, "Wi' that Outlaw will I live and die; The king has gifted my landis lang syne-- It cannot be nae wa.r.s.e wi' me."

The king was c.u.ming thro' Caddon Ford[109], And full five thousand men was he; They saw the derke Foreste them before, They thought it awsome for to see.

Then spak the lord, hight Hamilton, And to the n.o.bil king said he, "My sovereign liege, sum council tak, First at your n.o.bilis, syne at me.

"Desyre him mete thee at Permanscore, And bring four in his c.u.mpanie; Five erles sall gang yoursell befor, Gude cause that you suld honour'd be.

"And, gif he refuses to do that, We'll conquess baith his landis and he; "There sall nevir a Murray, after him, Hald land in Ettricke Foreste frie."

Then spak the kene laird of Buckscleuth, A stalworthye man, and sterne was he-- "For a king to gang an Outlaw till, Is beneath his state and his dignitie.

"The man that wons yon Foreste intill, He lives by reif and felonie!

Wherefore, brayd on, my sovereign liege!

Wi' fire and sword we'll follow thee; Or, gif your courtrie lords fa' back, Our borderers sall the onset gie."

Then out and spak the n.o.bil king, And round him cast a wilie e'e-- "Now haud thy tongue, Sir Walter Scott, Nor speik of reif nor felonie: For, had everye honeste man his awin kye, A right puir clan thy name wad be!"

The king then call'd a gentleman, Royal banner bearer there was he;

James Hop Pringle of Torsonse, by name; He cam and knelit upon his kne.

"Wellc.u.m, James Pringle of Torsonse!

A message ye maun gang for me; Ye maun gae to yon Outlaw Murray, Surely where bauldly bideth he.

"Bid him mete me at Permanscore, And bring four in his c.u.mpanie; Five erles sall c.u.m wi' mysell Gude reason I suld honour'd be.

"And, gif he refuses to do that, Bid him luke for nae good o' me!

Ther sall nevir a Murray, after him, Have land in Ettricke Foreste frie."

James cam befor the Outlaw kene, And serv'd him in his ain degre-- "Wellc.u.m, James Pringle of Torsonse!

What message frae the king to me?"

"He bidds ye mete him at Permanscore, And bring four in your c.u.mpanie; Five erles sall gang himsell befor, Nae mair in number will he be.

"And, gif you refuse to do that, (I freely here upgive wi' thee) He'll cast yon bonny castle down, And mak a widowe o' that gaye ladye.

"He'll loose yon bluidhound borderers, Wi' fire and sword to follow thee; There will nevir a Murray, after thysell, Have land in Ettricke Foreste frie."

"It stands me hard," the Outlaw said; "Judge gif it stands na hard wi' me!

Wha reck not losing of mysell, But a' my offspring after me.