He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie!

And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

He went into her father's ha',
Binnorie, O Binnorie!

And played his harp before them a',
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie,

He laid the harp upon a stane,
Binnorie, O Binnorie!

It straight began to play alane,

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

And first the harp sung loud and clear,
Binnorie, O Binnorie !

"Farewell, my father and mother dear,"
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

Neist when the harp began to sing,
Binnorie, O Binnorie !

'Twas "

Farewell, William," said the string,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

And then as plain as plain could be,
Binnorie, O Binnorie !

"There sits my sister, wha drowned me,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie."

The Wife o' Beith.

Copies of this curious old rhyme are now very rare indeed, although in the not very remote period of "John Cheap, the Chapman," it circulated in thousands in the east and north-east, and in tens of thousands in the west and southwest of Scotland. Its subject is a daring one, and many

will esteem the treatment as irreverent, but it was not so regarded in the day of its popularity, and is therefore an interesting relic of a time when plain speaking was fashionable-when the oratory of the pulpit was frequently as homely in expression and rude in design as the wicked "Wife o' Beith; an allegorical dialogue, containing nothing but what is recorded in Scripture."

IN Beith once dwelt a worthy wife,

Of whom brave Chaucer mention makes.
She lived a licentious life,

And namely in venereal acts,

But death did come for all her cracks ;

When years were spent and days out driven,

Then suddenly she sickness takes,
Deceased forthwith, and went to heaven.

But as she went upon the way,
There followed her a certain guide,
And kindly to her he did say,
"Where mean you, dame, for to abide?
I know you are the Wife of Beith,
And would not then that you go wrong,
For I'm your friend, and will be leath
That you go through that narrow throng;
This way is broader, go with me,
And very pleasant is the way;

I'll bring you there, where you should be,
Go with me, friend-say me not nay."

She looked on him, then did speer,

"I pray you, sir, what is your name?
Shew me the way how you came here?
To tell to me it is no shame.

Is that a favour 'bout your neck?

And what is that upon your side?

I knew you by your colours first,

Is it a bag or silver sack?

What are you then? where do you bide?"

"I was a servant unto Christ, And Judas likewise is my name.

"Forsooth, indeed, you are to blame; Your Master did you not betray? And hang yourself when you had done? Where'er you bide I will not stay; Go then, you knave, let me alone." "Whate'er I be, I'll be your guide, Because you know not well the way." "What would you me, where do you dwell I have no will to go with thee;

I fear it is some lower cell,

I pray thee therefore let me be ;
I know your way it is to hell,
For you are none of the eleven ;
Go haste you then unto your cell,
My way is only unto heaven."

"That way is by the gates of hell,

If you intend there for to go,

Go, dame, I will not you compel,

But I with you will go also."

Where smoke and darkness did abound,

And pitch and sulphur burnéd still,

With yells and cries hills did resound;

The Fiend himself came to the gate,

And asked him where he had been.

"Do you not know? Have you forgot? Seeking this wife could not be seen.

"Good dame," he said, "would you be here

I pray you then tell me your name.

"The Wife of Beith, since that you speer,

But to come in I were to blame."

"I will not have you here, good dame,

For you were mistress of the flyting;
If once within this gate you came,
I would be troubled with your biting.

Cummer, go back, and let me be,
Here are too many of your rout;
For women lewd like unto thee,
I cannot turn my foot about."

"Sir thief, I say I shall bide out,
But gossip thou wast ne'er to me;
For to come in, I'm not so stout,
And of my biting thou'st be free :
But, Lucifer, what's that on thee?
Hast thou no water in this place?
Thou look'st so black, it seems to me
Thou ne'er dost wash thy ugly face."
"If we had water for to drink,
We should not care for washing then
Into these flames and filthy stink,
We burn with fire unto the doom;
Upbraid me then, good wife, no more,
For first when I heard of thy name,
I knew thou hadst such words in store
Would make the Devil to think shame."

66

;

Forsooth, sir thief, thou art to blame, If I had time now for to bide.

Once you were well, but may think shame,
That lost heaven for rebellious pride;
Who traitor-like fell with the rest,
Because you would not be content,
And now of bliss art dispossest,
Without all grace for to repent;
Thou mad'st poor Eve for to consent
To eat of the forbidden tree

(Which we poor daughters may relent),
And made us almost like to thee;
But God be blest, who passed thee by,

And did a Saviour provide

For Adam's whole posterity,

All those who do in him confide.

Adieu, false friend, I may not bide,
With thee I may no longer stay;
My God in death He was my guide,
O'er hell I'll get the victory."

Then up the hill the poor wife went,
Oppressed with stinking flames and fear,
Weeping right sore with great relent,
For to go else she wist not where-
A narrow way with thorns and briers,
And full of mires was her before ;
Sighéd oft with sobs and tears,

The poor wife's heart was wondrous sore,
Tired and torn she went on still,
Sometimes she sat, and sometimes fell,
Until she came to a high hill,

And then she looked back to hell.

When that she had climbed up the hill,
Before her was a goodly plain;
Where she did rest and weep her fill,

Then she rose to her feet again;

Her heart was glad, the way was good,

Up to the hill she hy'd with haste,

The flowers were fair where that she stood, The fields were pleasant to her taste.

Then she espied Jerusalem, On Sion's mount where that it stood, Shining with gold light as the sun, Her silly soul was then right glad ; The ports were pearls shining bright, Glorious it was for to behold, The precious stones gave such a light, The walls were of transparent gold. High were the walls, the gates were shut. And long she thought for to be in ; But then for fear of biding out,

She knocked hard and made some din.