XIII. LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.
A Scottish Song.
[_]
The subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once thought
might possibly relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion
of his wife Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for
his marriage with the Queen of Scots: But this opinion
he now believes to be groundless; indeed earl Bothwell's
age, who was upwards of 60 at the time of that marriage,
renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a
passion as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed,
that it entirely refers to a private story: A lady of quality
of the name of Bothwell, or rather Boswell, having
been, together with her child, deserted by her husband or
lover, composed these affecting lines herself; which here are
given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. compared with another in Allan Ramsay's Miscellany.
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:
If thoust be silent, Ile be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mithers joy,
Thy father breides me great annoy.
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weepe.
Whan he began to court my luve,
And with his sugred wordes
to muve,
His faynings fals, and flattering cheire
To me that time did not appeire:
But now I see, most cruell hee
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.
Balow, &c.
Ly stil, my darling, sleipe a while,
And whan thou wakest, sweitly smile:
But smile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids: nay God forbid!
Bot yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire
Thy fatheris hart, and face to beire.
Balow, &c.
I cannae chuse, but ever will
Be luving to thy father stil:
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde,
My luve with him maun stil abyde:
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,
Mine hart can neire depart him frae.
Balow, &c.
Bot doe not, doe not, prettie mine,
To faynings fals thine hart incline;
Be loyal to thy luver trew,
And nevir change hir for a new:
If gude or faire, of hir have care,
For womens banning's wonderous sair.
Balow, &c.
Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,
Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;
My babe and I'll together live,
He'll comfort me whan cares doe grieve:
My babe and I right saft will ly,
And quite forgeit man's cruelty.
Balow, &c.
Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,
That evir kist a womans mouth!
I wish all maides be warnd by mee
Nevir to trust mans curtesy;
For if we doe bot chance to bow,
They'le use us than they care not how.
Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.
