The Seven Champions Of The stage In imitation of Gill Morice. An excellent new old fashion'd Song All to the melancholy Tune of Gill Morice; except the 17th. 18th. and 19th. Stanzas which ought to be Sung to the merry Tune of the C---s are coming O ho! [by John Home] |
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GILL MORICE, AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH POEM.
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 | The Seven Champions Of The stage |  |
1
GILL MORICE, AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH POEM.
The foundation of the tragedy called Douglas.
I
Gill Morice was an Erle's son,His name it waxed wide;
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor zet his mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.
II
Quhair will I get a bonny boyThat will win hose and shoen,
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha,
And bid his Lady cum?
And ze maun rin errand Willie,
And ze may rin wi pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ze sall ride.
2
III
O no! Oh no! my master dear!I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld Baron's
For to triest furth his wife.
My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
My dear Willie, he said,
How can ze strive against the stream?
For I sall be obeyd.
IV
Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze red,
For fear ze should be tain.
Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha,
Bid hir cum here wi speid:
If ze refuse my heigh command,
I'll gar thy body bleid.
V
Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,'Tis a gowd but the hem:
Bid hir cum to the guid grene wod,
And bring nane bot hir lain:
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Hir ain hand sewd the slive,
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice;
Speir nae bauld Baron's leave.
VI
Yes, I will gae zour black errand,Tho' it be to thy cost,
3
In it ze sall find frost.
The Baron he's a man of might,
He neir coud bide to taunt,
As ze will see before its nicht,
How sma ze hae to vaunt.
VII
And sen I maun zour errand rin,Sae sair against my will,
I's mak a vow, and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill.
And quhen he came to broken brigue,
He bent his bow and swam,
And quhen he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
VIII
And quhen he came to Barnard's ha,Woud neither chap nor ca;
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa.
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Tho' he stude at the gait;
Bot stracht into the ha he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.
IX
Hail! hail! my gentle Sire and Dame!My message winna waite;
Dame, ye maun to the guid grene wod
Before that it be late.
Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel,
'Tis a gowd bot the hem:
4
Even by zour sel alane.
X
And there it is, a silken sarke,Zour ain hand sewd the slive;
Ze maun cum speik to Gill Morice;
Speir nae bauld Baron's leave.
The Lady stamped wi hir foot,
And winked wi hir ee;
Bot a that she coud say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.
XI
Its surely to my bowr-woman;It neir could be to me.
I brocht it to Lord Barnard's Lady;
I trow that ze be she.
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon her knee),
If it be cum frae Gill Morice,
Its deir welcum to me.
XII
Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,Sae loud's I heire ze lie;
I brocht it to Lord Barnard's Lady;
I trow ze be nae she.
Then up and spack the bauld Baron,
An angry man was he;
He's tain the table wi his foot,
Sae hes he wi his knee;
5
In flinders he gard flee.
XIII
Gae bring a robe of zour cliding,That hings upon the pin;
And I'll gae to the guid grene wod,
And speik with your lemman.
O bide at hame now Lord Barnard,
I warde ze bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence,
That neir wate ze wi nane.
XIV
Gill Morice sits in guid grene wod,He whistl'd and he sang;
O what means a these folks coming?
My mother she tarrys lang.
And when he cam to guid grene wod,
Wi miekle dule and cair;
And there he first saw Gill Morice
Kemeing down his zellow hair.
XV
Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,Than my Lady loed thee well,
The fairest part of my body
Is blacker than thy heel.
Zet neir the less now Gill Morice,
For a thy great bewty,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That heid sall gae wi me.
6
XVI
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,And slaited on the strae;
And thro' Gill Morice fair bodie
He's gard cauld iron gae.
And he has tain Gill Morice heid,
And set it on a speir;
The meanest man in a his train
Has gotten that heid to bear.
XVII
And he has tain Gill Morice up,Laid him across his steid,
And brocht him to his painted bowr,
And laid him on a bed.
The Lady sat on castil wa,
Beheld baith dale and doun,
And there she saw Gill Morice heid
Cum trailing to the town.
XVIII
Far better I loe that bluidy heid,Bot and that zellow hair,
Than Lord Barnard, and a his lands,
As they lay here and there.
And she has tain hir Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin.
I was ance as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip was o' the stean.
XIX
I got ze in my father's house,Wi miekle sin and shame;
7
Under the heavy rain:
Oft have I by thy credle sitten,
And fondly seen thee sleip;
Bot now I gae about thy grave,
The sat tears for to weip.
XX
And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,And syne his bluidy chin.
O better I loe my Gill Morice
Than a my kith and kin!
Away, away, ze ill woman!
And an ill deed mait ze die;
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son,
He'd neir bin slain for me.
XXI
Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard,Obraid me not for shame!
Wi that saim speir O pearce my heart!
And put me out o' pain.
Since naithing bot Gill Morice heid
Thy jelous rage coud quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life
That neir to thee did ill.
XXII
To me nae after day nor nichtsWill eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind.
Enouch of blood by me's been spilt,
Seek not zour death frae me;
8
Than eather him or thee.
XXIII
With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up zour teirs, my wensom dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound;
Zou see his heid upon my speir,
His heart's bluid on the ground.
XXIV
I curse the hand that did the deid,The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi sik speid,
The comly zouth to kill.
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were my ain;
I'll neir forget the driry day
On which the zouth was slain.
FINIS.
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