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. 
collapse sectionV. 
expand section114. 
expand section115. 
expand section116. 
expand section117. 
expand section118. 
expand section119. 
expand section120. 
expand section121. 
expand section122. 
expand section123. 
expand section124. 
expand section125. 
expand section126. 
expand section127. 
expand section128. 
expand section129. 
expand section130. 
expand section131. 
expand section132. 
expand section133. 
expand section134. 
expand section135. 
expand section136. 
expand section137. 
expand section138. 
expand section139. 
expand section140. 
expand section141. 
expand section142. 
expand section143. 
expand section144. 
expand section145. 
expand section146. 
expand section147. 
expand section148. 
expand section149. 
expand section150. 
expand section151. 
expand section152. 
expand section153. 
expand section154. 
expand section155. 
expand sectionVI. 
expand sectionVII. 
expand sectionVIII. 
expand sectionIX. 

The Laird of Drum

THE LAIRD O DRUM—D

[_]

a. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 194. b. Buchan's MSS, II, 101. c. The New Deeside Guide, by James Brown [Joseph Robertson], [1832], p. 11. d. Gibb MS., p. 21, No 4, from the recitation of a schoolfellow at Auchinblae, Kincardineshire, about 1851.

1

The laird o Drum is a hunting gane,
All in a morning early,
And he did spy a well-far'd may,
Was shearing at her barley.

2

‘O will ye fancy me, fair may,
And let your shearing be, O
And gang and be the lady o Drum?
O will ye fancy me?’ O

3

‘I winna fancy you,’ she says,
‘Nor let my shearing be;
For I'm ower low to be Lady Drum,
And your miss I'd scorn to be.’

4

‘But ye'll cast aff that gown o grey,
Put on the silk and scarlet;

326

I'll make a vow, and keep it true,
You'll neither be miss nor harlot.’

5

‘Then dee you to my father dear,
Keeps sheep on yonder hill;
To ony thing he bids me do
I'm always at his will.’

6

He has gane to her father dear,
Keeps sheep on yonder hill:
‘I'm come to marry your ae daughter,
If ye'll gie me your gude will.’

7

‘She'll shake your barn, and winna your corn,
And gang to mill and kill;
In time of need she'll saddle your steed;
And I'll draw your boots mysell.’

8

‘O wha will bake my bridal bread,
And wha will brew my ale,
And wha will welcome my lady hame,
It's mair than I can tell.’

9

Four an twenty gentle knights
Gied in at the yetts o Drum;
But nae a man lifted his hat
Whan the lady o Drum came in.

10

But he has taen her by the hand,
And led her but and ben;
Says, You'r welcome hame, my lady Drum,
For this is your ain land.

11

For he has taen her by the hand,
And led her thro the ha;
Says, You'r welcome hame, my lady Drum,
To your bowers ane and a'.

12

Then he['s] stript her o the robes o grey,
Drest her in the robes o gold,
And taen her father frae the sheep-keeping,
Made him a bailie bold.

13

She wasna forty weeks his wife
Till she brought hame a son;
She was as well a loved lady
As ever was in Drum.

14

Out it speaks his brother dear,
Says, You've dune us great wrang;
You've married a wife below your degree,
She's a mock to all our kin.

15

Out then spake the Laird of Drum,
Says, I've dune you nae wrang;
I've married a wife to win my bread,
You've married ane to spend.

16

‘For the last time that I was married,
She was far abeen my degree;
She wadna gang to the bonny yetts o Drum
But the pearlin abeen her ee,
And I durstna gang in the room where she was
But my hat below my knee.’

17

When they had eaten and well drunken,
And all men bound for bed,
The Laird o Drum and his lady gay
In ae bed they were laid.

18

‘Gin ye had been o high renown,
As ye are o low degree,
We might hae baith gane down the streets
Amang gude companie.’

19

‘I tauld you ere we were wed
You were far abeen my degree;
But now I'm married, in your bed laid,
And just as gude as ye.

20

‘Gin ye were dead, and I were dead,
And baith in grave had lain,
Ere seven years were at an end,
They'd not ken your dust frae mine.’