Читать книгу English and Scottish Ballads (Vol. 1-8) - Various Authors - Страница 120
ОглавлениеLord Ingram and Childe Vyet,
Were both born in ane bower,
Had both their loves on one Lady,
Childe Vyet and Lord Ingram,5
Were both born in one hall,
Had both their loves on one Lady
The worse did them befall.
Lord Ingram woo'd the Lady Maiserey,
From father and from mother;10
Lord Ingram woo'd the Lady Maiserey,
From sister and from brother.
Lord Ingram wooed the Lady Maiserey,
With leave of all her kin;
And every one gave full consent,15
But she said no, to him.
Lord Ingram wooed the Lady Maiserey,
Into her father's ha';
Childe Vyet wooed the Lady Maiserey,
Among the sheets so sma'.20
Now it fell out upon a day,
She was dressing her head,
That ben did come her father dear,
Wearing the gold so red.
"Get up now, Lady Maiserey,25
Put on your wedding gown,
For Lord Ingram will be here,
Your wedding must be done!"
"I'd rather be Childe Vyet's wife,
The white fish for to sell,30
Before I were Lord Ingram's wife,
To wear the silk so well!
"I'd rather be Childe Vyet's wife,
With him to beg my bread,
Before I'd be Lord Ingram's wife,35
To wear the gold so red.
"Where will I get a bonny boy,
Will win gold to his fee,
Will run unto Childe Vyet's ha',
With this letter from me?"40
"O here, I am the boy," says one,
"Will win gold to my fee,
And carry away any letter,
To Childe Vyet from thee."
And when he found the bridges broke,45
He bent his bow and swam;
And when he found the grass growing,
He hasten'd and he ran.
And when he came to Vyet's castle,
He did not knock nor call,50
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly leaped the wall;
And ere the porter open'd the gate,
The boy was in the hall.
The first line that Childe Vyet read,55
A grieved man was he;
The next line that he looked on,
A tear blinded his e'e.
"What ails my own brother," he says,
"He'll not let my love be;60
But I'll send to my brother's bridal;
The woman shall be free.
"Take four and twenty bucks and ewes,
And ten tun of the wine,
And bid my love be blythe and glad,65
And I will follow syne."
There was not a groom about that castle,
But got a gown of green;
And a' was blythe, and a' was glad,
But Lady Maiserey was wi' wean.70
There was no cook about the kitchen,
But got a gown of gray;
And a' was blythe, and a' was glad,
But Lady Maiserey was wae.
'Tween Mary Kirk and that castle,75
Was all spread o'er with garl, To keep the lady and her maidens, From tramping on the marl.
From Mary Kirk to that castle,
Was spread a cloth of gold,80
To keep the lady and her maidens,
From treading on the mould.
When mass was sung, and bells were rung,
And all men bound for bed,
Then Lord Ingram and Lady Maiserey,85
In one bed they were laid.
When they were laid upon their bed,
It was baith soft and warm,
He laid his hand over her side,
Says he, "you are with bairn."90
"I told you once, so did I twice,
When ye came as my wooer,
That Childe Vyet, your one brother,
One night lay in my bower.
"I told you twice, so did I thrice,95
Ere ye came me to wed,
That Childe Vyet, your one brother,
One night lay in my bed!"
"O will you father your bairn on me,
And on no other man?100
And I'll gie him to his dowry,
Full fifty ploughs of land."
"I will not father my bairn on you,
Nor on no wrongous man,
Tho' you'd gie him to his dowry,105
Five thousand ploughs of land."
Then up did start him Childe Vyet,
Shed by his yellow hair,
And gave Lord Ingram to the heart,
A deep wound and a sair.110
Then up did start him Lord Ingram,
Shed by his yellow hair,
And gave Childe Vyet to the heart,
A deep wound and a sair.
There was no pity for the two lords,115
Where they were lying slain,
All was for Lady Maiserey:
In that bower she gaed brain!
There was no pity for the two lords,
When they were lying dead,120
All was for Lady Maiserey:
In that bower she went mad!
"O get to me a cloak of cloth,
A staff of good hard tree;
If I have been an evil woman,125
I shall beg till I die.
"For ae bit I'll beg for Childe Vyet,
For Lord Ingram I'll beg three,
All for the honourable marriage, that
At Mary Kirk he gave me!"130
4. The less was their bonheur. Motherwell.
70, she was neen. Motherwell.
76, gold.
78, mould. N. C. G.
