The English and Scottish Popular Ballads :: :: University of Virginia Library

a. Roxburghe Ballads, II, 294. b. Douce Ballads, II, 204 b. c. Rawlinson Ballads, 566, fol. 9. All printed for P. Brooksby: 1672-95(?). d. Pills to purge Melancholy, VI, 289, 17. e. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 344.

1

As it befell upon one time,
About mid-summer of the year,
Every man was taxt of his crime,
For stealing the good Lord Bishop's mare.

2

The good Lord Screw he sadled a horse,
And rid after this same scrime;
Before he did get over the moss,
There was he aware of Sir Hugh of the Grime.

3

‘Turn, O turn, thou false traytor,
Turn, and yield thyself unto me;
Thou hast stolen the Lord Bishops mare,
And now thou thinkest away to flee.’

4

‘No, soft, Lord Screw, that may not be!
Here is a broad sword by my side,
And if that thou canst conquer me,
The victory will soon be try'd.’

5

‘I ner was afraid of a traytor bold,
Although thy name be Hugh in the Grime;
I'l make thee repent thy speeches foul,
If day and life but give me time.’

6

‘Then do thy worst, good Lord Screw,
And deal your blows as fast as you can;
It will be try'd between me and you
Which of us two shall be the best man.’

7

Thus as they dealt their blows so free,
And both so bloody at that time,
Over the moss ten yeomen they see,
Come for to take Sir Hugh in the Grime.

8

Sir Hugh set his back against a tree,
And then the men encompast him round;
His mickle sword from his hand did flee,
And then they brought Sir Hugh to the ground.

9

Sir Hugh of the Grime now taken is
And brought back to Garlard town;
[Then cry'd] the good wives all in Garlard town,
‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou'st ner gang down.’

10

The good Lord Bishop is come to the town,
And on the bench is set so high;
And every man was taxt to his crime,
At length he called Sir Hugh in the Grime.

11

‘Here am I, thou false bishop,
Thy humours all to fulfill;
I do not think my fact so great
But thou mayst put it into thy own will.’

12

The quest of jury-men was calld,
The best that was in Garlard town;
Eleven of them spoke all in a breast,
‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou'st ner gang down.’

13

Then another questry-men was calld,
The best that was in Rumary;
Twelve of them spoke all in a breast,
‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou'st now guilty.’

14

Then came down my good Lord Boles,
Falling down upon his knee:
‘Five hundred pieces of gold would I give,
To grant Sir Hugh in the Grime to me.’

15

‘Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles,
And of your speeches set them by!
If there be eleven Grimes all of a name,
Then by my own honour they all should dye.’

16

Then came down my good Lady Ward,
Falling low upon her knee:
‘Five hundred measures of gold I'le give,
To grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me.’

17

‘Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward,
None of your proffers shall him buy!
For if there be twelve Grimes all of a name,
By my own honour they all should dye.’

18

Sir Hugh of the Grime's condemnd to dye,
And of his friends he had no lack;
Fourteen foot he leapt in his ward,
His hands bound fast upon his back.

19

Then he lookt over his left shoulder,
To see whom he could see or spy;
Then was he aware of his father dear,
Came tearing his hair most pittifully.

20

‘Peace, peace, my father dear,
And of your speeches set them by!
Though they have bereavd me of my life,
They cannot bereave me of heaven so high.’

21

He lookt over his right shoulder,
To see whom he could see or spye;
There was he aware of his mother dear,
Came tearing her hair most pittifully.

22

‘Pray have me remembred to Peggy, my wife;
As she and I walkt over the moor,
She was the cause of [the loss of] my life,
And with the old bishop she plaid the whore.

23

‘Here, Johnny Armstrong, take thou my sword,
That is made of the mettle so fine,
And when thou comst to the border-side,
Remember the death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.’

Hughie Graham

HUGHIE GRAME—B

[_]

Johnson's Museum, No 303, p. 312, contributed by Burns; Cromek, Reliques of Robert Burns, 4th ed., 1817, p. 287; Cromek, Select Scottish Songs, etc., 1810, II, 151. From oral tradition in Ayrshire.

1

Our lords are to the mountains gane,
A hunting o the fallow deer,
And they hae gripet Hughie Graham,
For stealing o the bishop's mare.

2

And they hae tied him hand and foot,
And led him up thro Stirling town;
The lads and lasses met him there,
Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun!

3

‘O lowse my right hand free,’ he says,
‘And put my braid sword in the same,
He's no in Stirling town this day
Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham.’

4

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord,
As he sat by the bishop's knee:
‘Five hundred white stots I'll gie you,
If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free.’

5

‘O haud your tongue,’ the bishop says,
‘And wi your pleading let me be!
For tho ten Grahams were in his coat,
Hughie Graham this day shall die.’

6

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord,
As she sat by the bishop's knee:
‘Five hundred white pence I'll gee you,
If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me.’

7

‘O haud your tongue now, lady fair,
And wi your pleading let it be!
Altho ten Grahams were in his coat,
It's for my honour he maun die.’

8

They've taen him to the gallows-knowe,
He looked to the gallows-tree,
Yet never colour left his cheek,
Nor ever did he blink his ee.

9

At length he looked round about,
To see whatever he could spy,
And there he saw his auld father,
And he was weeping bitterly.

10

‘O haud your tongue, my father dear,
And wi your weeping let it be!
Thy weeping's sairer on my heart
Than a' that they can do to me.

11

‘And ye may gie my brother John
My sword that's bent in the middle clear,
And let him cone at twelve o'clock,
And see my pay the bishop's mare.

12

‘And ye may gie my brother James
My sword that's bent in the middle brown,
And bid him come at four o'clock,
And see his brother Hugh cut down.

13

‘Remember me to Maggy my wife,
The niest time ye gang oer the moor;
Tell her, she staw the bishop's mare,
Tell her, she was the bishop's whore.

14

‘And ye may tell my kith and kin
I never did disgrace their blood,
And when they meet the bishop's cloak,
To mak it shorter by the hood.’

Hughie the Græme

HUGHIE GRAME—C

[_]

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 87, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of William Laidlaw. “From Robert Laidlaw.”

1

Gude Lord Scroop's to the huntin gane;
He's ridden oer monie a moss an muir,
An he has grippit Hughie the Græme,
For stealin o the bishop's mare.

2

An they hae grippit Hughie the Græme,
An brought him up thro Carlisle town;
The lasses an lads they stood by the wa's,
Cryin, Hughie the Græme, thou's no gae down!

3

They ha chosen a jury o men,
The best that were i Coventry,
An fifteen o them out a' at anse,
‘Hughie the Græme, thou art guiltie.’

4

Than up bespak him gude Lord Hume,
As he sat at the judge's knee;
‘Twentie white ousen, my gude lord,
If ye'll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’

5

‘O no, no, no, my gude Lord Hume,
For sooth an so it mauna be;
For war there but twae Græms o the name,
They sould be hangit a' for me.’

6

'Twas up than spak her gude Lady Hume,
As she sat by the judge's knee;
‘A peck o white pennies, my gude lord,
If ye'll grant Hughie the Greame to me.’

7

‘O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume,
For sooth an so it sal na be;
For war there but twae Greames of the name,
They soud be hangit a' for me.’

8

‘If I be guilty,’ said Hughie the Graeme,
‘Of me my friends sal hae nae lack;’
An he has luppen fifteen feet an three,
An his hands they war tyed ahint his back.

9

He's lookit oer his left shouther,
To see what he coud see,
An there he saw his auld father commin,
An he was weepin bitterlie.

10

‘O had yer tongue, my father,’ he says,
‘An see that ye dinna weep for me,
For they may ravish me o my life,
But they canna banish me thrae the heavens hie.

11

‘Fare ye weel, Maggie, my wife;
The last time I came oer the muir,
It was you berievt me o my life,
An wi the bishop playd the w[hore].’

Sir Hugh in the Grime's Downfall

HUGHIE GRAME—D

[_]

Roxburghe Ballads, III, 456; edited for the Ballad Society by J. W. Ebsworth, VI, 598.

1

Good Lord John is a hunting gone,
Over the hills and dales so far,
For to take Sir Hugh in the Grime,
For stealing of the bishop's mare.
He derry derry down

2

Hugh in the Grime was taken then
And carried to Carlisle town;
The merry women came out amain,
Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!

3

O then a jury of women was brought,
Of the best that could be found;
Eleven of them spoke all at once,
Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!

4

And then a jury of men was brought,
More the pity for to be!
Eleven of them spoke all at once,
Saying, Hugh in the Grime, you are guilty.

5

Hugh in the Grime was cast to be hangd,
Many of his friends did for him lack;
For fifteen foot in the prisin he did jump,
With his hands tyed fast behind his back.

6

Then bespoke our good Lady Ward,
As she set on the bench so high:
‘A peck of white pennys I'll give to my lord,
If he'll grant Hugh Grime to me.

7

‘And if it be not full enough,
I'll stroke it up with my silver fan;
And if it be not full enough,
I'll heap it up with my own hand.’

8

‘Hold your tongue now, Lady Ward,
And of your talkitive let it be!
There is never a Grime came in this court
That at thy bidding shall saved be.’

9

Then bespoke our good Lady Moor,
As she sat on the bench so high:
‘A yoke of fat oxen I'll give to my lord,
If he'll grant Hugh Grime to me.’

10

‘Hold your tongue now, good Lady Moor,
And of your talkitive let it be!
There is never a Grime came to this court
That at thy bidding shall saved be.’

11

Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out of the door,
With his hand out of the bar;

There he spy'd his father dear,
Tearing of his golden hair.

12

‘Hold your tongue, good father dear,
And of your weeping let it be!
For if they bereave me of my life,
They cannot bereave me of the heavens so high.’

13

Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out at the door,
Oh, what a sorry heart had he!
There [he] spy'd his mother dear,
Weeping and wailing ‘Oh, woe is me!’

14

‘Hold your tongue now, mother dear,
And of your weeping let it be!
For if they bereave me of my life,
They cannot bereave me of heaven's fee.

15

‘I'll leave my sword to Johnny Armstrong
That is made of mettal so fine,
That when he comes to the border-side
He may think of Hugh in the Grime.’

Sir Hugh the Græme

HUGHIE GRAME—E

[_]

Buchan's MSS, I, 53.

1

Lord Home he is a hunting gane,
Through the woods and valleys clear,
And he has taen Sir Hugh the Græme,
For stealing o the bishop's mare.

2

They hae taen Sir Hugh the Græme,
Led him down thro Strieveling town;
Fifeteen o them cried a' at ance,
‘Sir Hugh the Græme he must go down!’

3

They hae causd a court to sit,
Mang a' their best nobilitie;
Fifeteen o them cried a' at ance,
‘Sir Hugh the Græme he now must die!’

4

Out it speaks the lady Black,
And o her will she was right free:
‘A thousand pounds, my lord, I'll gie,
If Hugh the Græme set free to me.’

5

‘Hold your tongue, ye Lady Black,
And ye'll let a' your pleadings be!
Though ye woud gie me thousands ten,
It's for my honour he must die.’

6

Then out it speaks her Lady Bruce,
And o her will she was right free:
‘A hundred steeds, my lord, I'll gie,
If ye'll gie Hugh the Græme to me.’

7

‘O hold your tongue, ye Lady Bruce,
And ye'll let a' your pleadings be!
Though a' the Græmes were in this court,
It's for my honour he must die.’

8

He looked over his shoulder,
It was to see what he coud see,
And there he saw his auld father,
Weeping and wailing bitterlie.

9

‘O hold your tongue, my old father,
And ye'll let a' your mourning be!
Though they bereave me o my life,
They canno had the heavens frae me.

10

‘Ye'll gie my brother John the sword
That's pointed wi the metal clear,
And bid him come at eight o'clock,
And see me pay the bishop's mare.

11

‘And, brother James, take here the sword
That's pointed wi the metal brown;
Come up the morn at eight o'clock,
And see your brother putten down.

12

‘And, brother Allan, take this sword
That's pointed wi the metal fine;
Come up the morn at eight o'clock,
And see the death o Hugh the Græme.

13

‘Ye'll tell this news to Maggy my wife,
Niest time ye gang to Strievling town,
She is the cause I lose my life,
She wi the bishop playd the loon.’

14

Again he ower his shoulder lookd,
It was to see what he could see,
And there he saw his little son,
Was screaming by his nourice knee.

15

Then out it spake the little son,
‘Since 'tis the morn that he must die,

If that I live to be a man,
My father's death revengd shall be.’

16

‘If I must die,’ Sir Hugh replied,
‘My friends o me they will think lack;’
He leapd a wa eighteen feet high,
Wi his hands bound behind his back.

17

Lord Home then raised ten armed men,
And after him they did pursue;
But he has trudged ower the plain
As fast as ony bird that flew.

18

He looked ower his left shoulder,
It was to see what he coud see;
His brother John was at his back,
And a' the rest o his brothers three.

19

Some they wound, and some they slew,
They fought sae fierce and valiantly;
They made his enemies for to yield,
And sent Sir Hugh out ower the sea.

HUGHIE GRAME—F

[_]

Macmath MS., p. 79. “Received by me 20th August and 7th September, 1887, from my aunt, Miss Jane Webster, who derived it from her mother, Janet Spark, Kirkcudbrightshire.”

1

‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,
When that she comes to the fair,
She was the cause of all my ruin,
It was her that stole the bishop's mare.

2

‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,
When that she comes to the town,
She was the cause of all my ruin,
It was her that stole the bishop's gown.’

Hughie Grame

HUGHIE GRAME—G

[_]

Harris MS., fol. 27 b.

Dukes an lords a huntin gane,
Over hills an vallies clear;
There the've bound him Hughie Grame,
For stealin o the bishop's mare.

HUGHIE GRAME—H

[_]

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 4, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of William Laidlaw.

1

Lairds and lords a hounting gane,
Out-over hills and valleys clear,
And there they met Hughie Grame,
Was riding on the bishop's mare.

2

And they have tied him hand and foot,
And they have carried him to Stirling town;
The lads and lasses there about
Crys, Hughie Grame, you are a lown!

3

‘If I be a lown,’ says he,
‘I am sure my friends has had bad luck;’
We that he jumpted fifteen foot,
With his hands tied behind his back.

4

Out and spoke Laidy Whiteford,
As she sat by the bishop's knee;
‘Four-and-twenty milk-kie I'll give to thee,
If Hughie Grame you will let free.’

5

‘Hold your tongue, my laidy Whiteford,
And of your pleading now lay by;
If fifty Grames were in his coat,
Upon my honour he shall die.’

6

Out and spoke Lord Whiteford,
As he sat by the bishop's knee;
‘Four-and-twenty stots I'll give thee,
If Hughie Grame you will let free.’

7

‘Hold your tongue, my lord Whiteford,
And of your pleading now lay by;
If twenty Grames were in his coat,
Upon my honour he shall die.’

8

‘You may tell to Meg, my wife,
The first time she comes through the mu[ir],
She was the causer of my death,
For with the bishop [she] plaid the whore.

9

‘You may tell to Meg, my wife,
The first time she comes through the town,
She was the causer of my death,
For with the bishop [she] plaid the lown.’

10

He looked oer his left shoulder,
To see what he could spy or see,
And there he spied his old father,
Was weeping bitterly.

11

‘Hold your tongue, my dear father,
And of your weeping now lay by;
They may rub me of my sweet life,
But not from me the heavence high.

12

‘You may give my brother John
The sword that's of the mettle clear,
That he may come the morn at four o clock
To see me pay the bishop's mare.

13

‘You may give my brother James
The sword that's of the mettle brown;
Tell him to come the morn at four o clock
To see his brother Hugh cut down.’

14

Up and spoke his oldest son,
As he sat by his nurse's knee;
‘If ere I come to be a man,
Revenged for my father['s] death I'll be.’

HUGHIE GRAME—I

[_]

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 36, Abbotsford, MS. of Thomas Wilkie, 1813-15, p. 9; “from a young girl, a Miss Nancy Brockie, Bemerside, who learned it from an old woman called Maron Miller, Threepwood.” Another copy, in Wilkie's hand, No 86 of the same.

1

Ye dukes and lords that hunt and go
Out-over moors and mountains clear,
And they have taen up poor Hughie Græme,
For stealing of the bishope's mare.
Fall all the day, fall all the daudy,
Fall all the day, fall the daudy O.

2

They hae tied him hand and foot,
They hae led him thro the town;
The lads and lassies they all met,
Cried, Hughie Græme, ye've playd the loon!

3

‘O if that I had playd the loon,
My friends of me they hae bad luck;’
With that he jumped fifteen feet,
Wi his hands tied fast behind his back.

4

Up then spoke my lady Whiteford,
As she sat by the bishope's knee;
‘Five hundred white pence I'll give thee,
If you let Hughie Græme go free.’

5

‘I'll hae nane of your hundred pense,
And your presents you may lay by;
For if Græme was ten times in his coat,
By my honour, Hugh shall die.’

6

Up then spoke my lord Whiteford,
As he sat by the bishope's knee;
‘Five score of good stotts I'll thee give,
If you'll sett Hughie Græme but free.’

7

‘I'll have none of your hundred stotts,
And all your presents you may keep to yoursell;
‘For if Græme was ten times in his coat
Hugh shall die, and die he shall.’

8

Then they hae tied him hand and foot,
And they hae led [him] to the gallows high;
The lads and lassies they all met,
Cried, Hughie Græme, thou art to die!

9

Now's he looked oer his left shoulder,
All for to see what he could spy,
And there he saw his father dear,
Stood weeping there most bitterlie.

10

‘O hold your tongue now, father,’ he said,
‘And of your weeping lai'd now by;
For they can rob me of my life,
But they cannot rob me of the heavens high.

11

‘But you must give to my brother John
The sword that's bent in the middle clear,
And tell him to come at twelve o clock
And see me pay the bishope's mare.

12

‘And you may give to my brother James
The sword that's bent in the middle brown,
And tell him to come at four o clock
And see his brother Hugh cut down.

13

‘And you may tell to Meg, my wife,
The first time she comes thro the town,
She was the occasion of my death
And wi the bishope playd the loon.

14

‘And you may tell to Meg, my wife,
The first time she comes thro the fair,
She was the occasion of my death,
And from the bishope stole the mare.’