'My father he is a baron bolde, "Of lynage proud and hye, "And what would he say if his daughter Away with a knight should fly? "Ah well I wot he nevir would rest, "Nor his meate should do him no goode, "Till he had slayne thee, Child of Elle, "And seene thy deare heart's bloode." O, lady, wert thou in thy saddle set, I would not care for thy cruel father, O, lady, wert thou in thy saddle sette, I would not care for thy cruel father, Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept, At lengthe he seizde her lilly-white hand, And doune the ladder he drewe. And thrice he claspde her to his breste, And kist her tenderlie : The tears that fell from her fair eyes He mounted himselfe on his steede so talle, And slung his bugle about his necke, All this beheard her own damselle, Awake, awake, thou baron bold! Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle, The baron he woke, the baron he rose, "And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte, "The ladye is carried to thrall.” Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, When she was aware of her father's men And foremost came the carlish knight, "For she is come of hye lynage, "And was of a lady borne; "And ill it beseems thee a false churles's sonne, "To carry her hence to scorne." Now loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, A knight me gott, and a ladye me bore, But light now doune, my lady faire, Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept, While twixt her love and the carlish knight, The Child of Elle he fought soe well, As his weapon he wavde amaine, And now the baron and all his men Her lover he put his horne to his mouth, Now hold thy hand thou bold baron, Thy daughter I have dearly lovde, O give consent she may be mine, My mother she was an erle's daughter, The baron he frownde, and turn'd away, Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept, At lengthe she sprang upon her knee, Pardon, my lord and father deare, Oft have you calld your Emmeline, The baron he stroakd his dark broun cheeke, And turnd his head asyde, To wipe away the starting teare He proudly strave to hyde. In deep revolving thought he stoode, Then rais'd fair Emmeline from the grounde, With many a fond embrace. Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd; And gave her lillye hand: Here take my deare and only child, And with her half my land. Thy father once mine honour wrong'd, Do thou the injury repayre In fondness for thy bride. And as thou love her, and hold her deare, And now my blessing wend wi' thee THE WIFE OF AUCHTERMUCHTY. IN Auchtermuchty dwelt a Man, An Husband, as I heard it tauld, He zokit his Plewch upon the Plain; But schort the Storm wald let him stay, Sair blew the Day with Wind and Rain. He lowsd the Plewch at the Lands End, Quod he, quhair is my Horses Corn, This Seid-time it proves cauld and bad, Gudeman, quod scho, content am I, And all the House baith in and out: |