Tragical history of Gill Morice (1)/Gill Morice

GILL MORICE.

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GILL MORICE was an Earl's son,
⁠His name it waxed 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 staid,
But his fame was by a fair lady,
⁠That liv'd on Carron side.—
"Where will I get a bonny boy,
⁠That will win hose and shoon,
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha',
⁠And bid his lady come!
Ye maun rin this errand, Willie,
⁠And maun rin wi' pride,
When other boys gae on their feet,
⁠On horseback ye shall 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 tryst forth his wife."
"My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
⁠My dear Willie," he said,
"How can you strive against the stream,
⁠For I shall be obey'd."
"But, oh, my master dear!" he cried,
⁠"In green wood ye're your lane;
Gi'e o'er sic thoughts, I would ye red,
⁠For fear ye should be ta'en."

"Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
⁠And bid her come here wi' speed;
If ye refuse my high command
⁠I'll gar thy 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 sew'd the sleeve;
And bid her come to Gill Morice,
⁠Speir nae bauld Baron's leave."
"Yes, I will gae your black errand,
⁠Though it be to my cost;
Sin ye by me will hae be warn'd,
⁠In it ye shall find frost.
The Baron he's a man of might,
⁠He ne'er could bide a taunt,
As ye shall see before it's night,
⁠How sma' ye ha'e to vaunt.
Now, sin I maun your errand rin,
⁠Sair, sair against my will,
I'se make a vow, and keep in true,
⁠It shall 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',
⁠Wou'd neither chap nor ca';
But set his bent how to his breast,
⁠And lightly lap the wa'.
He would tell nae man his errand,
⁠Though twa stood at the gate;
But straight into the ha' he came,
⁠Whar grit folks fat 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' goud but the hem;
Ye maun go to the good green wood,
⁠E'en by your sell alane.
There it is, a silken sark,
⁠Your ain hand sew'd the sleeve;
Ye maun come speak to Gill Morice,
⁠Speir nae bauld Baron's leave."
The lady stamped wi' her foot,
⁠And winked wi' her eye;
But a' that she could or say do,
⁠Forbidden he wadna be.
"It's surely to my bow's woman,
⁠It ne'er cou'd be to me,"
"I brought to Lord Barnard's lady,
⁠I trow that ye be she."
Then up and spake the wylie nurse,
⁠(The bairn upon her knee,)
"If it be come from Gill Morice
⁠'Tis dear welcome to me."
"Ye lied, ye lied, ye filthy nurse,
⁠Sae loud's I hear you lie;
I brought it to Lord Barnard's Lady.
⁠I trow ye be not she."
Then up and spoke the bauld Baron,
⁠An angry man was he,
He's ta'en the table wi' his foot,
⁠In flinders gart a' 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 ye bide at hame,
Ne'er wyte a man for violence,
⁠That ne'er wyte ye wi' nane."
Gill Morice sits in good green wood,
⁠He whistled and he sang;
"O what mean a' these folk coming?
⁠My mother tarries lang."
And when he came to good green wood,
⁠Wi' meikle dull and care,
It's there he saw brave Gill Morice,
⁠Kaming his yellow hair.
"Nae wonder, nae wonder Gill Morice,
⁠My lady lo'ed you weel,
The fairest part of my body
⁠Is blacker than thy heel;
Yet ne'ertheless, now, Gill Morice,
⁠For a' thy great beauty,
Ye's rue the day that ye was born,
⁠That head shall gae with me
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
⁠And slait it on the straw,
And through Gill Morice's fair body,
⁠He's gard cauld iron gae.
And he has ta'en Gill Morice's head
⁠And set it on a spear;
The meanest man in a' his train,
⁠Has got the head to bear.
Add he has ta'en Gill Morice up,
⁠Laid him across his steed,
And brought him to his painted bower,
⁠And laid him on a bed,
The lady sat on castle wa',
⁠Beheld baith dale and down,
And there she saw Gill Morice's head
⁠Come trailing to the town.
"Far mair I lo'e that bloody head,
⁠But, and that bloody hair,
Than Lord Barnard and a' his lands,
⁠As they lie here and there."
And she has ta'en Gill Morice,
⁠And kiss'd baith mouth and chin,
"I once was as fu' of Gill Morice,
⁠As hip is o' the stane.
I got thee in my father's house,
⁠Wi' muckle grief and shame,
And brought thee up in green wood,
⁠Under the heavy rain,
Oft have I by thy cradle sat,
⁠And soundly seen thee sleep,
But now I'll go about thy grave,
⁠The sa't tears for to weep;"
And first she kiss’d his bloody cheek,
⁠And syne his bloody chin;
"Better I lo'e my Gill Morice,
⁠Than a' my kith and kin!
"Away, away, ye ill woman!
⁠An ill death may you die,
Gin I had kenn'd he'd been your son,
⁠He'd ne'er been slain by me."
"Upbraid me not, Lord Barnard,
⁠Upbraid me not for shame!
Wi' that same spear, oh pierce my heart!
⁠And put me out of pain;
Since naething but Gill Morice's head
⁠Thy jealous rage could quell,
Let that same hand now take her life,
⁠That ne'er to thee did ill.
To me nae after days nor nights,
⁠Will e'er be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
⁠And greet till I am blind."
"Enough of blood by me's been spilt,
⁠Seek not your death from me;
I rather it had been mysell,
⁠Than either him or thee.
With wae so wae I hear your 'plaint,
⁠Sair, sair I rue the deed,
That e'er this eursed hand of mine
⁠Did gar his body bleed.
Dry up your tears, my winsome dame,
⁠Ye ne'er ean heal the wound
You see this head upon my spear,
⁠His heart's blood on the ground.
I eurse the land that did the deed,
⁠The heart that thought the ill,
The feet that bore me wi' sick speed,
⁠The comely youth to kill:
I'll aye lament for Gill Morice,
⁠As gin he were my ain;
I'll ne'er forget the dreary day
⁠On which the youth was slain!"