Lord Randal- anon (Scot) 1825 Cunningham
[From Cunningham's Scottish Songs, I, 286 f. Three stanzas are given by Child in his headnotes. The second stanza was inserted into Scott's version. See Child's notes below- then Cunningham's,
R. Matteson 2018]
Three stanzas which are found in A. Cunningham's Scottish Songs, I, 286 f, may be given for what they are worth. 'The house of Marr,' in the first, is not to be accepted on the simple ground of its appearance in his pages. The second is inserted in his beautified edition of Scott's ballad, and has its burden accordingly; but there is, besides this, no internal evidence against the second, and none against the third.
'O where have you been, Lord Ronald, my son?
where have you been, my handsome young man?'
'At the house of Marr, mother, so make my bed soon,
For I 'm wearied with hunting, and fain would lie down.'
'where did she find them, Lord Randal, my son?
O where did she catch them, my handsome young man?'
'Neath the bush of brown bracken, so make my bed soon,
For I 'm wae and I 'm weary, and fain would lie down.'
'what got your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son?
what got your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?'
'They lapt the broo, mother, so make my bed soon,
I am wearied with hunting, and fain would lie down.'
* * * *
The songs of Scotland, ancient and modern; with an intr. and notes, Volume 1 edited by Allan Cunningham, 1825
LORD RANDAL.
Where have ye been hunting,
Lord Randal, my son? Where have ye been hunting,
My handsome young man? In yon wild wood, O mother,
So make my bed soon; For I'm wae, and I'm weary,
And fain would lie down.
Where got ye your dinner,
Lord Randal, my son? Where got ye your dinner,
My handsome young man? O, I dined with my true love,
So make my bed soon; For I'm wae, and I'm weary,
And fain would lie down.
O, what was your dinner,
Lord Randal, my son? O, what was your dinner,
My handsome young man? Eels boiled in broo, mother,
So make my bed soon; For I'm wae, and I'm weary
And fain would lie down.
O, where did she find them,
Lord Randal, my son?
O, where did she catch them,
My handsome young man?
'Neath the bush of brown brekan,
So make my bed soon;
For I'm wae, and I'm weary,
And fain would lie down.
Now, where are your bloodhounds,
Lord Randal, my son?
What came of your bloodhounds,
My handsome young man?
They swelled and died, mother,
And sae maun I soon—
I am wae, and I'm weary,
And fain would lie down.
I fear you are poisoned,
Lord Randal, my son;
I fear you are poisoned,
My handsome young man:
O yes, I am poisoned,
So make my bed soon—
I am sick, sick at heart,
And I fain would lie down.
I have had the good fortune to recover a verse which renders this very pathetic song perfect. I need hardly say, that it is the fourth; for the song is an universal favourite, and the introduction of a new and characteristic verse cannot remain undiscovered. It is generally printed, and as generally sung, under the name of Lord Ronald; but I willingly follow, with Sir Walter Scott, the authority of an Ettrick forest copy in calling the hero Randal. One of the old verses seems to favour the name of Ronald, by laying the tragic scene farther north.
O, where have ye been, Lord Ronald, my son?
O, where have ye been, my handsome young man?
At the house of Marr, mother, so make my bed soon;
For I'm wearied with hunting, and fain would lie down.
There is, likewise, another verse worthy, perhaps, of preservation; but as it protracted the narrative of the story without adding much information, I have ventured to omit it.
O, what got your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son?
O, what got your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?
They lapt the broo, mother, so make my bed soon—
I am wearied with hunting, and fain would lie down.
Sir Walter Scott has the more willingly followed the traditional variation, since he thinks it not impossible that the song may have originally regarded the untimely death of the great Thomas Randal, Earl of Murray. He perished at the moment when his services were most necessary to his country; and for this reason, perhaps, our historians, and the prudent and accurate Barbour among them, impute his death to poison. Fordun repeats, and Boece, who believed every thing, echoes the same story, and charges his murder on Edward the Third. Tradition lends its aid, and minstrelsy has assisted, in spreading a tale which the research and wisdom of Lord Hailes have not been able to dissipate. He was said to have been poisoned by a monk.
A curious account of the death of King John introduces a monk, who was eminent for medical skill, boasting that he could give the king such a wassail as would make England rejoice. "Then went the monk into a garden, and found a toad therein, and took her up and put her in a cup, and filled it with good ale, and pricked her in every place in the cup till the venom came out, and brought it before the king, and knelt and said—' Sir, wassail—for never in your life drank ye such a cup.' 'Begin, monk,' said the king; and the monk drank a great draught, and took the king the cup, and the king also drank a great draught and set down the cup. The king was anon full evil at ease, and commanded to remove the table, and asked for the monk, and one told him he was dead, for his womb had burst asunder." The king survived this infernal draught eleven days. The adders from below the braken bush had the same effect on Lord Randal and his bloodhounds. There is a nursery song which transforms the handsome young hunter into a child, and poisons him by a false stepmother.