The richts o' this estate can shaw,
And that is mair than ye can do."

"What!" quo' the laird, can that be true?" "'Tis true," quo' Thrummy, "look an' see, Dae ye think that I wad tell a lee ?" Parchments frae his pouch then he drew, And doon upon the table threw.

The laird at this up tae him ran,

And cried, "Whaur did you get them, man?
Syne Thrummy tauld him a' the tale,

As I've tauld you, baith clear and hale.
The laird at this was fidgin' fain,
That he had got his richts again;

And fifty guineas doon did tell,
Besides a present frae himsel'.

Thrummy thanked him, and syne his gowd
Intae a muckle purse he stowed,

And crammed it in his oxter pooch,
And syne socht oot his aiken crutch:
Said, "Fare ye weel, I maun awa',
And see gin I get through the snaw.'
"Weel, fare ye weel," replied the laird;
"But hoo comes it ye hae'na shared,
Or gien your neighbour o' the money?"
"Na' by my sowl, I, sir," quo' Thrummy,
"When I the siller sair did win,
Tae share wi' him wad be a sin,

For ere that I the ghaist had laid
The cooardly brute had fyle't the bed."
And sae my tale I here do end,

I hope that nane it will offend :
My muse will nae assist me langer,
The dorty jaud sometimes does anger,
I thocht her aince a gey smart lass,
But noo she's come to sicna pass
That a' my cudgellin' and wheepin'

Will hardly wauk her oot o' sleepin',
Tae plague her mair I winna try,
But dicht my pen and lay it bye.

Gil Morrice.

None of the ancient ballads preserved by the Scottish peasantry has excited more interest than the beautiful and pathetic narrative of "Gil Morrice," and this, as Motherwell observes, 66 no less on account of its own intrinsic merits as a piece of exquisite poetry than of its having furnished the plot of the justly celebrated tragedy of 'Douglas.'' Gray described it as divine, and it has been a fount of inspiration to various poets. It is believed to be founded on a real incident which happened in a remote period of our Scottish history. The " green wood" of the ballad was the ancient forest of Dundaff, in Stirlingshire, and Lord Barnard's castle is said to have occupied a precipitous cliff, overhanging the Water of Carron, on the lands of Halbertshire.

99 66

There are various readings of the ballad, under the titles, "Chield Morice,' Childe Maurice," and "Child Noryce." The following is the commoner copy of the chapman's wallet, and, in my opinion, the best.

GIL MORRICE was an Earl's son,

His name it waxèd wide;

It was nae for his great riches,
Nor yet his meikle pride.

His face was fair, lang was his hair,
In the wild woods he stay'd,
But his fame was by a fair lady,
That lived on Carron side.

"Whare sall I get a bonny boy

That will win hose and shoon,
That will go to Lord Barnard's ha',
And bid his lady come.

"It's ye maun rin this errand, Willie, And ye may rin wi' pride,

When other boys gae on their feet,

On horseback ye sall ride."

"O no! O no! my master dear,

I dare not for my life,
I'll no gae to the bauld Baron's

For to tryste forth his wife."

"My bird Willie, my boy Willie, My dear Willie," he said,

"How can you strive against the stream? For I sall be obeyed."

"But Oh! my master dear," he cried,
"In green wood ye're your lane,
Gie o'er sic thochts I would ye redd,
For fear ye should be ta'en."

"Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
And bid her come wi' speed;
If ye refuse my high command,
I'll gar your body bleed.

"Gae bid her take this gay mantle,

'Tis a' gowd but the hem ;

Bid her come to the good green wood,
And bring nane but her lane.

"And there it is, a silken sark,
Her ain hand sewed the sleeve,
And bid her come to Gil Morrice,
Speir nae bauld Baron's leave."

"Yes, I will gae your black errand,
Though it be to your cost,

Sin' ye by me will not be warned,
In it ye shall find frost.

"The Baron he's a man of might,

He ne'er could bide a taunt, And ye sall see before it's night, How sma' ye ha'e to vaunt.

"And sin' I maun your errand rin,
Sair, sair against my will,

I'se make a vow, and keep it true,
It sall be done for ill."

And when he came to broken brig,
He bent his bow and swam,
And when he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.

And when he came to Barnard's ha'
Would neither chap nor ca',
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lichtly lap the wa'.

He would nae man his errand tell,
Though twa stood at the gate,
But straight into the ha' he came,
Where great folks sat at meat.

"Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame, My message winna wait,

Dame, ye maun to the green wood gang, Before that it be late.

"Ye're bidden take this

gay mantle,

It's a' gowd but the hem,

Ye maun go to the good green wood,
E'en by yourself alane.

"There it is, a silken sark,

Your ain hand sewed the sleeve, You maun come speak to Gil Morrice, Speir nae bauld Baron's leave."

The lady stamped wi' her foot,
And winked wi' her e'e,

But all that she could do or say,
Forbidden he wouldna be.

"It's surely to my bower-woman, It ne'er could be to me;"

"I brought it to Lord Barnard's Lady, I trow that ye be she."

Then up and spake the wily nurse,

(The bairn upon her knee), "If it be come frae Gil Morrice, 'Tis dear welcome to me."

"Ye lee, ye lee, ye filthy nurse,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee;

I brought it to Lord Barnard's Lady,
I trow ye be nae she."

Then up and spake the bauld Baron,

An angry man was he;

He's ta'en the table wi' his foot,

In flinders gart it flee.

"Gae bring a robe of yon cleiding,

That hangs upon the pin,

And I'll gae to the good green wood,
And speak with your leman."

"O bide at hame now, Lord Barnard,
I warn you, bide at hame;
Ne'er wyte a man wi' violence
That ne'er wyte ye wi' nane."

Gil Morrice sat in yon green wood,
He whistled and he sang ;

"Oh, what means a' thae folk coming? My mother tarries lang."

B