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The Jewis Daughter

SIR HUGH, OR, THE JEW'S DAUGHTER—C

[_]

Percy papers; communicated to Percy by Paton, in 1768 or 69, and derived from a friend of Paton's.

1

Four and twenty bonny boys
War playing at the ba;
Then up and started sweet Sir Hew,
The flower amang them a'.

2

He hit the ba a kick wi's fit,
And kept it wi his knee,
That up into the Jew's window
He gart the bonny ba flee.

3

‘Cast doun the ba to me, fair maid,
Cast doun the ba to me;’
‘O neer a bit o the ba ye get
Till ye cum up to me.

4

‘Cum up, sweet Hew, cum up, dear Hew,
Cum up and get the ba;’
‘I canna cum, I darna cum,
Without my play-feres twa.’

5

‘Cum up, sweet Hew, cum up, dear Hew,
Cum up and play wi me;’
‘I canna cum, I darna cum,
Without my play-feres three.’

6

She's gane into the Jew's garden,
Where the grass grew lang and green;
She powd an apple red and white,
To wyle the young thing in.

7

She wyl'd him into ae chamber,
She wyl'd him into twa,
She wyl'd him to her ain chamber,
The fairest o them a'.

8

She laid him on a dressing-board,
Where she did sometimes dine;
She put a penknife in his heart,
And dressed him like a swine.

9

Then out and cam the thick, thick blude,
Then out and cam the thin;
Then out and cam the bonny heart's blude,
Where a' the life lay in.

10

She rowd him in a cake of lead,
Bad him lie still and sleep;
She cast him in the Jew's draw-well,
Was fifty fadom deep.

11

She's tane her mantle about her head,
Her pike-staff in her hand,
And prayed Heaven to be her guide
Unto some uncouth land.

12

His mither she cam to the Jew's castle,
And there ran thryse about:
‘O sweet Sir Hew, gif ye be here,
I pray ye to me speak.’

13

She cam into the Jew's garden,
And there ran thryse about:
‘O sweet Sir Hew, gif ye be here,
I pray ye to me speak.’

14

She cam unto the Jew's draw-well,
And there ran thryse about:
‘O sweet Sir Hew, gif ye be here,
I pray ye to me speak.’

15

‘How can I speak, how dare I speak,
How can I speak to thee?
The Jew's penknife sticks in my heart,
I canna speak to thee.

16

‘Gang hame, gang hame, O mither dear,
And shape my winding sheet,
And at the birks of Mirryland town
There you and I shall meet.’

17

Whan bells war rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men bound for bed,
Every mither had her son,
But sweet Sir Hew was dead.
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