Winds that have no abidings,
Pitying their delay,

Would come and bring him tidings,
And direct him the way.

If the earth should part him,

He would gallop it o'er;
If the seas should o'erthwart him,
He would swim to the shore.
Should his love become a swallow,
Through the air to stray,
Love will lend wings to follow,
And will find out the way.

There is no striving

To cross his intent,

There is no contriving

His plots to prevent;

But if once the message greet him,
That his true love doth stay,

If death should come and meet him,
Love will find out the way.

give a light,

A little before it is day;

So God bless you all, both great and

small,

And send you a joyful May!

The fairies' lost command;

They did but change priests' babies,

But some have changed your land; And all your children sprung from thence Are now grown Puritans;

Who live as changelings ever since,
For love of your domains.

At morning and at evening both,
You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleep or sloth
These pretty ladies had;
When Tom came home from labor,
Or Cis to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabor,
And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelays
Of theirs, which yet remain,
Were footed in Queen Mary's days
On many a grassy plain;
But since of late Elizabeth,

And later, James came in,
They never danced on any heath
As when the time hath been.

By which we note the fairies
Were of the old profession,
Their songs were Ave-Maries,

Their dances were procession:
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas;
Or farther for religion fled;

Or else they take their ease.

A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure,
And whoso kept not secretly

Their mirth, was punished sure; It was a just and Christian deed, To pinch such black and blue : O, how the commonwealth doth need Such justices as you!

21

When lads and lasses merry be,

With possets and with junkets fine; Unseen of all the company,

I eat their cakes and sip their wine!
And, to make sport,

I puff and snort:

And out the candles I do blow: The maids I kiss,

They shriek-Who's this?

I answer naught but ho, ho, ho!

I mark their gloze,

And it disclose

UNKNOWN.

[Before 1649-]

EDOM O' GORDON.

IT fell about the Martinmas,
When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,
"We maun draw to a hauld.

"And whatna hauld sall we draw to, My merry men and me?

We will gae to the house of the Rodes, To see that fair ladye."

The lady stood on her castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down;

When I have done

I get me gone,

And leave them scolding, ho, ho,

ho!

Came riding towards the town.

"Gie owre your house, ye lady fair,
Gie owre your house to me;
Or I sall burn yoursell therein,
But and your babies three."

"I winna gie owre, ye fause Gordon,
To nae sic traitor as thee;
And if ye burn my ain dear babes,
My lord sall mak' ye dree.

"Now reach my pistol, Glaud, my man,
And charge ye weel my gun;
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,
My babes, we been undone !"

But on the point o' Gordon's spear
She gat a deadly fa'.

O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
And cherry were her cheeks,
And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
Whereon the red blood dreeps.

23

Then wi' his spear he turned her owre;
O gin her face was wan!
He said, "Ye are the first that e'er
I wished alive again."

He cam' and lookit again at her;
O gin her skin was white!
"I might hae spared that bonnie face
To hae been some man's delight."

"Busk and boun, my merry men a',
For ill dooms I do guess ;-

I cannot look on that bonnie face
As it lies on the grass."

"Wha looks to freits, my master dear, Its freits will follow them;

Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon Was daunted by a dame."

But when the ladye saw the fire

Come flaming o'er her head, She wept, and kissed her children twain, Says, "Bairns, we been but dead."

The Gordon then his bugle blew,

And said, "Awa', awa'!

This house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame; I hauld it time to ga'."

And this way lookit her ain dear lord,
As he came owre the lea;

He saw his castle a' in a lowe,
Sae far as he could see.

"Put on, put on, my wighty men,

As fast as ye can dri'e!

For he that 's hindmost o' the thrang Sall ne'er get good o' me."

Then some they rade, and some they ran,
Out-owre the grass and bent;

But ere the foremost could win up,
Baith lady and babes were brent.

And after the Gordon he is gane,

Sae fast as he might dri'e;

And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude He's wroken his fair ladye.

UNKNOWN.

TAKE THY AULD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.

IN winter, when the rain rained cauld, And frost and snow were on the hill, And Boreas with his blasts sae bâuld

Was threat'ning all our kye to kill; Then Bell, my wife, wha loves not strife, She said to me right hastilie, "Get up, gudeman, save Crummie's life, And take thy auld cloak about thee!

"Cow Crummie is a useful cow,

And she is come of a good kin'; Aft has she wet the bairnies' mou',

And I am laith that she should pine: Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time!

The sun shines frae the lift sae hie; Sloth never made a gracious end,

Gae, take thy auld cloak about thee!"

"My cloak was once a gude gray cloak, When it was fitting for my wear; But now it's scantly worth a groat,

For I hae worn 't this thirty year : Let's spend the gear that we hae won, We little ken the day we 'll dee; Then I'll be proud, since I hae sworn To hae a new cloak about me."

"In days when our King Robert reigned, His breeches cost but half a crown; He said they were a groat too dear,

And ca'd the tailor thief and loun. He was the king that wore the crown, And thou the man of low degree: It's pride puts a' the country down,

Sae take thy auld cloak about thee!"

"O Bell, my wife, why dost thou flout?
Now is now, and then was then.
Seek anywhere the world throughout,
Thou ken'st not clowns from gentle-

If thou wilt prove a good husband,
E'en take thy auld cloak about thee."

Bell, my wife, she loves not strife,
But she will rule me if she can:

And oft, to lead a quiet life,

I'm forced to yield, though I'm gude

man.

It's not for a man with a woman to threape

Unless he first give o'er the plea : As we began so will we leave, And I'll take my auld cloak about me.

UNKNOWN.

THE BARRING O' THE DOOR.

IT fell about the Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was than,
When our gudewife got puddings to
make,

And she boiled them in the pan.

The wind sae cauld blew east and north,
It blew into the floor:
Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
"Gae out and bar the door!"

"My hand is in my huswif's kap, Gudeman, as ye may see;

An' it should nae be barred this hundred

year,

It's no be barred for me."

They made a paction 'tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure,
That the first word whae'er should speak
Should rise and bar the door.

Then by there came twa gentlemen
At twelve o'clock at night;
And they could neither see house nor
hall,

Nor coal nor candle light.

And first they ate the white puddings,
And then they ate the black;
Though muckle thought the gudewife to
hersel',

Yet ne'er a word she spak'.

Then said the one unto the other,

"Here, man, tak' ye my knife!