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Lady Maisry

Anonymous
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OriginalNel ringraziare Riccardo per l’intervento, la traduzione e l...
LADY MAISRY

The young lords o the north country
Have all a wooing gane,
To win the love of Lady Maisry,
But o them she woud hae nane.

O thae hae sought her Lady Maisry
Wi a’ kin kind of things;
An they hae sought her Lady Maisry
Wi brotches an wi’ rings.

An they hae sought her Lady Maisry
Frae father and frae mither;
An they hae sought her Lady Maisry
Frae sister an frae brither.

An they ha followd her Lady Maisry
Thro chamber an thro ha;
But a’ that they coud say to her,
Her answer still was Na.

‘O haud your tongues, young men,’ she says,
‘An think nae mair o me;
For I’ve gien my love to an English lord,
An think nae mair o me.’

Her father’s kitchy-boy heard that,
An ill death mot he dee!
An he is on to her brother,
As fast as gang coud he.

‘O is my father an my mother weel,
But an my brothers three?
Gin my sister Lady Maisry be weel,
There’s naething can ail me.’

‘Your father and your mother is weel,
But an your brothers three;
Your sister Lady Maisry’s weel,
So big wi bairn gangs she.’

‘A malison light on the tongue,
Sic tidings tells to me!
But gin it be a lie you tell,
You sal be hangit hie.’

He’s done him to his sister’s bowr,
Wi meikle doole an care;
An there he saw her Lady Maisry,
Kembing her yallow hair.

‘O wha is aucht that bairn,’ he says,
‘That ye sae big are wi’
And gin ye winna own the truth,
This moment ye sall dee.’

She turnd her richt an roun about,
An the kem fell frae her han;
A trembling seizd her fair bodie,
An her rosy cheek grew wan.

‘O pardon me, my brother dear,
An the truth I’ll tell to thee;
My bairn it is to Lord William,
An he is betrothd to me.’

‘O coudna ye gotten dukes, or lords,
Intill your ain countrie,
That ye drew up wi an English dog,
To bring this shame on me?

‘But ye maun gi up the English lord,
Whan youre young babe is born;
For, gin you keep by him an hour langer,
Your life sall be forlorn.’

‘I will gi up this English blood,
Till my young babe be born;
But the never a day nor hour langer,
Tho my life should be forlorn.’

‘O whare is a’ my merry young men,
Wham I gi meat and fee,
To pu the bracken and the thorn,
To burn this vile whore wi?’

‘O whare will I get a bonny boy,
To help me in my need,
To rin wi hast to Lord William,
And bid him come wi speed?’

O out it spake a bonny boy,
Stood by her brother’s side:
‘It's I wad rin your errand, lady,
Oer a’ the warld wide.

‘Aft hae I run your errands, lady,
Whan blawin baith win and weet;
But now I’ll rin your errand, lady,
Wi saut tears on my cheek.’

O whan he came to broken briggs,
He bent his bow and swam,
An whan he came to the green grass growin,
He slackd his shoon and ran.

O whan he came to Lord William’s yetts,
He badena to chap or ca,
But set his bent bow till his breast,
An lightly lap the wa;
An, or the porter was at the yett,
The boy was i the ha.

‘O is my biggins broken, boy?
Or is my towers won?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
O' a dear daughter or son?’

‘Your biggin isna broken, sir,
Nor is your towers won;
But the fairest lady in a’ the lan
This day for you maun burn.’

‘O saddle me the black, the black,
Or saddle me the brown;
O saddle me the swiftest steed
That ever rade frae a town.’

Or he was near a mile awa,
She heard his weir horse sneeze:
‘Mend up the fire, my fause brother,
It’s nae come to my knees.’

O, whan he lighted at the yett,
She heard his bridle ring:
‘Mend up the fire, my fause brother,
It’s far yet frae my chin.

‘Mend up the fire to me, brother,
Mend up the fire to me;
For I see him comin hard an fast
Will soon men’t up to thee.

‘O gin my hands had been loose, Willy,
Sae hard as they are boun,
I would have turnd me frae the gleed,
And casten out your young son.’

‘O I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your father an your mother;
An I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your sister an your brother.

‘An I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry,
The chief of a’ your kin;
An the last bonfire that I come to,
Mysell I will cast in.’

THE BURNING

My father was the first good man
Who tied me to the stake;
My mother was the first good woman,
She did the fire make.

My brother was the second good man,
He did the fire fetch;
And my sister was the second good woman
Who lighted it with a match.

And they blew the fire, they kindled the fire
Till it did reach my knee:
“Oh mother, mother, quench the fire!
For the smoke do smother me.”

“Oh had I but my little foot-page,
An errand he might run;
I would send him away to London gay
To bid my lord come home.”

Well, by there stood by her sister’s child,
Her own dear sister’s son:
“It's many an errand I’ve run for thee
And this one too I’ll run.”

He ran, where the bridge it were broken down,
He bent his bow and swam;
He swam till he came to the good green land,
There he jumped to his feet and ran.

And he ran till he came to his uncle’s hall
Where is uncle sat at meat:
“Good meat, good meat, good uncle, I pray,
If you knew what I have to say,
How little you would eat!”

“Oh is my castle broken down,
Or is my tower won?
Or is my lady brought to bed
Of a daughter or a son?”

“Your castle is not broken down,
Nor is your tower won;
Nor is your lady brought to bed
Of a daughter or a son.”

“But she has give me a gay gold ring
With posies round the rim,
And she swears if you bear any love for her,
You will ride to her burning.”

So he's called up his merry men
By one, by two, by three;
And he’s mounted upon his milk-white steed
To ride to Margery.

She's looked o'er her left shoulder,
Saw her girdle hanging free:
“Oh God bless them that gave me this!
For no more they’ll give to me.”

She's looked o'er her right shoulder,
Saw her lord come riding home:
“Oh mother, mother, quench the fire!
For I am nearly gone.”

But they blew the fire, they kindled the fire,
Till it did reach her chin:
“O mother, mother, quench the fire!
For I am nearly gone.”

He's mounted down from his milk-white steed
And into the fire he's run;
He was thinking to save his lady gay,
But he had staid too long.


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