Young Hunting- Version K; Child 68 Young Hunting
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 118.
1 Lady Maisry forth from her bower came,
And stood on her tower-head;
She thought she heard a bridle ring,
The sound did her heart guid.
2 She thought it was her first true-love,
Whom she loved ance in time;
But it was her new love, Hunting,
Come frae the hunting o the hyn.
3 'Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry,
God make you safe and free;
I'm come to take my last farewell,
And pay my last visit to thee.'
4 'O stay, O stay then, Young Hunting,
O stay with me this night;
Ye shall hae cheer, an charcoal clear,
And candles burning bright.'
5 'Have no more cheer, you lady fair,
An hour langer for me;
I have a lady in Garmouth town
I love better than thee.'
6 'O if your love be changed, my love,
Since better canno be,
Nevertheless, for auld lang syne,
Ye'll stay this night wi me.
7 'Silver, silver shall be your wage,
And gowd shall be your fee,
And nine times nine into the year
Your weed shall changed be.
8 'Will ye gae to the cards or dice,
Or to a tavern fine?
Or will ye gae to a table forebye,
And birl baith beer and wine?'
9 'I winna gang to the cards nor dice,
Nor to a tavern fine;
But I will gang to a table forebye,
And birl baith beer and wine.'
10 Then she has drawn for Young Hunting
The beer but and the wine,
Till she got him as deadly drunk
As ony unhallowed swine.
11 Then she's taen out a trusty brand,
That hang below her gare,
Then she's wounded him Young Hunting,
A deep wound and a sair.
12 Then out it speaks her comrade,
Being in the companie:
'Alas! this deed that ye hae done
Will ruin baith you and me.'
13 'Heal well, heal well, you Lady Katharine,
Heal well this deed on me,
The robes that were shapen for my bodie,
They shall be sewed for thee.'
14 'Tho I woud heal it never sae well,
And never sae well,' said she,
'There is a God above us baith
That can baith hear and see.'
15 They booted him, and spurred him,
As he'd been gaun to ride,
A hunting-horn about his neck,
A sharp sword by his side.
16 And they rode on, and farther on,
All the lang summer's tide,
Until they came to wan water,
Where a' man ca's it Clyde.
17 And the deepest pot in Clyde's water,
And there they flang him in,
And put a turf on his breast-bane,
To had Young Hunting down.
18 O out it speaks a little wee bird,
As she sat on the brier:
'Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry,
And pay your maiden's hire.'
19 'O I will pay my maiden's hire,
And hire I'll gie to thee;
If ye'll conceal this fatal deed,
Ye's hae gowd for your fee.'
20 Then out it speaks a bonny bird,
That flew aboon their head:
'Keep well, keep well your green claithing
Frae ae drap o his bluid.'
21 'O I'll keep well my green claithing
Frae ae drop o his bluid,
Better than I'll do your flattering tongue,
That flutters in your head.
22 'Come down, come down, my bonny bird,
Light down upon my hand;
For ae gowd feather that's in your wing,
I woud gie a' my land.'
23 'How shall I come down, how can I come down,
How shall I come down to thee?
The things ye said to Young Hunting,
The same ye're saying to me.'
24 But it fell out on that same day
The king was going to ride,
And he calld for him Young Hunting,
For to ride by his side.
25 Then out it speaks the little young son,
Sat on the nurse's knee:
'It fears me sair,' said that young babe,
'He's in bower wi yon ladie.'
26 Then they hae calld her Lady Katharine,
And she sware by the thorn
That she saw not him Young Hunting
Sin yesterday at morn.
27 Then they hae calld her Lady Maisry,
And she sware by the moon
That she saw not him Young Hunting
Sin yesterday at noon.
28 'He was playing him at the Clyde's Water,
Perhaps he has fa'en in:'
The king he calld his divers all,
To dive for his young son.
29 They div'd in thro the wan burn-bank,
Sae did they outthro the other:
'We'll dive nae mair,' said these young men,
'Suppose he were our brother.'
30 Then out it spake a little bird,
That flew aboon their head:
'Dive on, dive on, ye divers all,
For there he lies indeed.
31 'But ye'll leave aff your day diving,
And ye'll dive in the night;
The pot where Young Hunting lies in,
The candles they'll burn bright.
32 'There are twa ladies in yon bower,
And even in yon ha,
And they hae killd him Young Hunting,
And casten him awa.
33 'They booted him, and spurred him,
As he'd been gaun to ride,
A hunting-horn tied round his neck,
A sharp sword by his side
34 'The deepest pot o Clyde's Water,
There they flang him in,
Laid a turf on his breast-bane,
To had Young Hunting down.'
35 Now they left aff their day diving,
And they dived on the night;
The pot that Young Hunting lay in,
The candles were burning bright.
36 The king he calld his hewers all,
To hew down wood and thorn,
For to put up a strong bale-fire,
These ladies for to burn.
37 And they hae taen her Lady Katharine,
And they hae pitten her in;
But it wadna light upon her cheek,
Nor woud it on her chin,
But sang the points o her yellow hair,
For healing the deadly sin.
38 Then they hae taen her Lady Maisry,
And they hae put her in:
First it lighted on her cheek,
And syne upon her chin,
And sang the points o her yellow hair,
And she burnt like keckle-pin.
_______________
From: Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland- Volume 1 By Peter Buchan 1828
Lady Maisry forth from her bower came,
And stood on her tower head;
She thought she heard a bridle ring,
The sound did her heart guid.
She thought it was her first true love,
Whom she loved ance in time;
But it was her new love, Hunting,
Come frae the hunting o' the hyn.
Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry,
God make you safe and free!
I'm come to take my last farewell,
And pay my last visit to thee.
O stay, O stay then, young Hunting,
O stay with me this night;
Ye shall ha'e cheer, an' charcoal clear,
And candles burning bright.
Have no more cheer, you lady fair,
An hour langer for me;
I have a lady in Garmouth town
I love better than thee.
O if your love be changed, my love,
Since better canno' be;
Nevertheless, for auld lang syne,
Ye'll stay this night wi' me.
Silver, silver shall be your wage,
And gowd shall be your fee;
And nine times nine into the year,
Your weed shall changed be.
Will ye gae to the cards or dice,
Or to a tavern fine?
Or will ye gae to a table forbye,
And birl baith beer and wine?
I winna gang to the cards nor dice,
Nor to a tavern fine;
But I will gang to a table forbye,
And birl baith beer and wine.
Then she has drawn for young Hunting
The beer but and the wine;
Till she got him as deadly drunk
As ony unhallowed swine.
Then she's ta'en out a trusty brand,
That hang below her gare;
Then she's wounded him, young Hunting,
A deep wound and a sair.
Then out it speaks her comrade,
Being in the companie,
Alas! this deed that ye hae done,
Will ruin baith you and me.
Heal well, heal well, you lady Katharine,
Heal well this deed on me;
The robes that were shapen for my bodie,
They shall be sewed for thee.
Tho' I wou'd heal it never sae well,
And never sae well, said she;
There is a God above us baith,
That can baith hear and see.
They booted him and spurred him,
As he'd been gaun to ride;
A hunting-horn about his neck,
A sharp sword by his side.
And they rode on, and farther on
All the lang summer's tide;
Until they came to wan water,
Where a' man ca's it Clyde.
And the deepest pot in Clyde's water,
And there they flang him in;
And put a turf on his breast bane,
To had young Hunting down.
O out it speaks a little wee bird,
As she sat on the brier;
Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry,
And pay your maiden's hire.
0 I will pay my maiden's hire,
And hire I'll gi'e to thee;
If ye'll conceal this fatal deed,
Ye's ha'e gowd for your fee.
Then out it speaks a bonny bird,
That flew aboon their head;
Keep well, keep well your green claithing,
Frae ae drap o' his bluid.
O I'll keep well my green claithing
Frae ae drap o' his bluid;
Better than I'll do your flattering tongue,
That flutters in your head.
Come down, come down, my bonny bird,
Light down upon my hand;
For ae gowd feather that's in your wing,
I wou'd gi'e a' my land.
How shall I come down, how can I come down?
How shall I come down to thee?
The things ye said to young Hunting,
The same ye're saying to me.
But it fell out on that same day,
The king was going to ride;
And he call'd for him, young Hunting,
For to ride by his side.
Then out it speaks the little young son,
Sat on the nurse's knee;
It fears me sair, said that young babe,
He's in bower wi' yon ladie.
Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Katharine,
And she sware by the thorn,
That she saw not him, young Hunting,
Sin' yesterday at morn.
Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Maisry,
And she sware by the moon,
That she saw not him, young Hunting,
Sin' yesterday at noon.
He was playing him at the Clyde's water,
Perhaps he has fa'en in.
The king he call'd his divers all,
To dive for his young son.
They div'd in thro' the wan burn-bank,
Sae did they outthro' the other;
We'll dive nae mair, said these young men,
Suppose he were our brother.
Then out it spake a little bird,
That flew aboon their head;
Dive on, dive on, ye divers all,
For there he lies indeed.
But ye'U leave aff your day diving,
And ye'll dive in the night;
The pot where young Hunting lies in,
The candles they'll burn bright.
There are twa ladies in yon bower,
And even in yon ha';
And they ha'e kill'd him, young Hunting,
And casten him awa'.
YOUNG HUNTING. Page 116. Fragments of this enchanting ballad have been printed in various collections, under a variety of titles. In Wotherspoon's Collection, vol. i. p. 148, are to be found seven mutilated verses; and in Lawrie and Symington's Collection, vol. i. p. 184, are five verses, all of which make the hero of the piece Earl Richard. Sir Walter Scott has also given two ballads in the 2d volume of the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border under the titles of "Lord William," and "Earl Richard," which are much like Young Hunting in detail. Sir Walter supposes the one to have been derived from the other. In his note to Earl Richard, he says, "There are two ballads in Mr Herd's MSS. upon the following story, in one of which the unfortunate knight is termed "Young Huntin." In Mr Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, is one under the name of "Young Redin;" but he is of opinion that it differs essentially, both in incident and detail, from either Lord William or Earl Richard. I am, however, inclined to think, its author has been indebted to Young Hunting for his plot. Young Hunting, though last on the stage of public criticism, is not the least in poetical merit;—it is superior to all those which have preceded it, and now for the first time printed in a complete and perfect state, with beauties that are not to be found in any of the other fragments.