University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The English and Scottish Popular Ballads

Edited by Francis James Child.

expand sectionI. 
expand sectionII. 
expand sectionIII. 
expand sectionIV. 
expand sectionV. 
expand sectionVI. 
expand sectionVII. 
expand sectionVIII. 
collapse sectionIX. 
expand section266. 
expand section267. 
expand section268. 
collapse section269. 
  
  
  
  
  
expand section270. 
expand section271. 
expand section272. 
expand section273. 
expand section274. 
expand section275. 
expand section276. 
expand section277. 
expand section278. 
expand section279. 
expand section280. 
expand section281. 
expand section282. 
expand section283. 
expand section284. 
expand section285. 
expand section286. 
expand section287. 
expand section288. 
expand section289. 
expand section290. 
expand section291. 
expand section292. 
expand section293. 
expand section294. 
expand section295. 
expand section296. 
expand section297. 
expand section298. 
expand section299. 
expand section300. 
expand section301. 
expand section302. 
expand section303. 
expand section304. 
expand section305. 

Lord Derwentwater

LORD DERWENTWATER—B

[_]

Notes and Queries, First Series, XII, 492, 1855; learned some forty five years before from an old gentleman, who, about 1773, got it by heart from an old washerwoman singing at her tub.

1

The king he wrote a love-letter,
And he sealed it up with gold,
And he sent it to Lord Derwentwater,
For to read it if he could.

2

The first two lines that he did read,
They made him for to smile;
But the next two lines he looked upon
Made the tears from his eyes to fall.

3

‘Oh,’ then cried out his lady fair,
As she in child-bed lay,
‘Make your will, make your will, Lord Derwentwater,
Before that you go away.’

4

‘Then here's for thee, my lady fair,
[OMITTED]
A thousand pounds of beaten gold,
To lead you a lady's life.’

5

[OMITTED]
[OMITTED] his milk-white steed,
The ring dropt from his little finger,
And his nose it began to bleed.

6

He rode, and he rode, and he rode along,
Till he came to Westminster Hall,
Where all the lords of England's court
A traitor did him call.

7

‘Oh, why am I a traitor?’ said he;
‘Indeed, I am no such thing;
I have fought the battles valiantly
Of James, our noble king.’

8

O then stood up an old gray-headed man,
With a pole-axe in his hand:
‘'Tis your head, 'tis your head, Lord Derwentwater,
'Tis your head that I demand.’

9

[OMITTED]
His eyes with weeping sore,
He laid his head upon the block,
And words spake never more.