& a Gyant that was both stiffe [&] strong, he lope now them amonge, & vpon his squier 5 heads he bare, vnmackley made was hee. & he dranke then on the Kings wine, & hee put the cup in his sleeue; 130 135 & all the trembled & were wan ffor feare he shold them greeffe. "Ile tell thee mine Arrand, King," he sayes, "mine errand what I doe heere; ffor I will bren thy temples hye, 140 or Ile haue thy daughter deere ; in, or else vpon, yond more soe brood thou shalt ffind mee a ppeare." the King he turned him round about, (Lord, in his heart he was woe !), 145 says, "is there noe Knight of the round table this matter will vndergoe? his owne errand ffor to say. "ifaith, I wold to god, Sir," sayd Sir Cawline, "that Soldan I will assay. 155 ffor I woone itt att [a] ffray." "but away, away!" sayd the hend Soldan, "thou tarryest mee here all day!" but the hend Soldan and Sir Cawline 160 thé ffought a summers day : now has hee slaine that hend Soldan, & brought his 5 heads away. & the King has betaken him his broade lands & all his venison. 165 "but take you too & your Lands [soe] broad, & brooke them well your liffe, ffor you promised mee your daughter deere to be my weded wiffe." V. EDWARD, EDWARD. A SCOTTISH BALLAD. From a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland. HE affectedly antique orthography of this ballad has caused some to suppose that it was a modern invention, probably by Lady Wardlaw, the author of Hardyknute, but Motherwell obtained another version from the recitation of an old woman, which he printed in his Minstrelsy under the title of "Son Davie, son Davie." He there says that there is reason to believe that Lord Hailes "made a few slight verbal improvements in the copy he transmitted, and altered the hero's name to Edward, a name which, by the bye, never occurs in a Scottish ballad except where allusion is made to an English king." There is a Swedish ballad of the same character entitled The Fratricide's Lament and Dialogue with his Mother before he wanders away from home for ever. The form of a dialogue between a mother and her son is a favourite one in the old ballads, and "Lord Donald” in Kinloch's Scottish Ballads and "Lord Randal" in Scott's Minstrelsy bear some likeness to the ballad of "Edward." The hero is supposed to have been poisoned by eating toads prepared as a dish of fishes, and the last stanza of Kinloch's ballad is as follows: "What will ye leave to your true love, Lord Donald, What will ye leave to your true love, My jollie young man? The tow and the halter for to hang on yon tree, UHY dois your brand sae drop wi' bluid,' Quhy dois your brand sae drop wi' bluid? O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid, Mither, mither: O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid: And I had nae mair bot hee, O. Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, Mither, Mither: O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, That erst was sae fair and free, O. Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair, Edward, Edward : Your steid was auld, and ye hae O, I hae killed my fadir deir, Mither, mither: O, I hae killed my fadir deir, Alas! and wae is me, O! 5 5 10 15 20 And quhatten penance wul ye drie for that, 25 Edward, Edward? And quhatten penance will ye drie for that? [1 why does your sword so drop with blood. 2 and why so sad gotye. some other grief you suffer. 3 no other but he. Ile set my feit in yonder boat, Mither, mither: 30 Ile set my feit in yonder boat, And Ile fare' ovir the sea, O. And quhat wul ye doe wi' your towirs and your ha"," Edward, Edward? And quhat wul ye doe wi' your towirs and your ha', 35 That were sae fair to see, O? Ile let thame stand til they doun fa"," Mither, mither: Ile let thame stand til they doun fa,' For here nevir mair maun I bee, O. 40 And quhat wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward? And quhat wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, Quhan ye gang ovir the sea, O? The warldis room,* let thame beg throw life, Mither, mither: The warldis room, let thame beg throw life, And quhat wul ye leive to your ain mither deir, Edward, Edward? And quhat wul ye leive to your ain mither deir? The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir, Mither, mither: The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir, Sic counseils ye gave to me, O. 45 50 55 This curious song was transmitted to the editor by Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., late Lord Hailes. 2 hall. a fall. the world's large.] [1pass. |