BALLAD,

ON THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET, (DAUGHTER OF HENRY VII.), TO JAMES IV. OF SCOTLAND.

1503.

EVANS.

O FAIR! fairest of every fair!
Princess, most pleasant and preclare,
The lustiest alive that been ;-
Welcome to Scotland to be Queen!

Young tender plant of pulchritude,
Descended of imperial blood!

Fresh pageant flower of fairhood sheen!
Welcome, of Scotland to be Queen!

Sweet lusty* imp of beauty clear!
Most mighty King's daughter dear,
Born of a princess most serene
Welcome, of Scotland to be Queen!

Welcome the Rose, both Red and White!
Welcome, the flower of our delight!
Our spirit rejoicing from the spleen ;-
Welcome! of Scotland to be Queen!

* This did not, at that time, imply what would now be called en bon point; it was intended to express perfect vigour and health, both of mind and body; and was therefore applicable to the slightest and most graceful proportions.

JOHNNY ARMSTRONG'S

GOOD-NIGHT.

THE hero of the following ballad lived in Westmoreland, near the river Ewse; and subsisted, himself, and a large body of men, by levying contributions and tribute on his neighbours, both Scotch and English ;—he was, in short, a moss-trooper. James V. raised a small army, and encamped near the river Ewse, with the purpose of destroying the banditti; when John Armstrong, being aware of his danger, held a converse with some of the king's officers, who persuaded him to make his submission, assuring him of a favourable reception. He accordingly set out, with an attendance of sixty men unarmed, and, anticipating no hostility, neglected to provide passes and a safe conduct; when these treacherous advisers laid an ambush for him, and carried him and his men to the king as prisoners, where they not only denounced him for the offences he had actually committed, but added a false accusation,—that he had plotted to deliver up that part of the country to the English. On this deceptive suggestion, and from this instance of truly Punic faith, the unhappy man was hanged, with fifty-four of his companions; the remaining six being retained as hostages. Mr. Evans observes, that the author of the ballad has thought proper to elevate the catastrophe of his hero, by causing him to die in fight, assigning to him eight score attendants, instead of three, and laying the scene in Edinburgh; which are the only deviations from the truth of history. This ballad is a standard and popular one.

Is there never a man in all Scotland,

From the highest estate to the lowest degree,
That can shew himself before our King,

Scotland is so full of treachery?

Yes! there is a man in Westmoreland,

And Johnny Armstrong they do him call ;* He has no lands or rents coming in,

Yet he keeps eightscore men within his hall.

He has horses and harness for them all,

And goodly steeds that be milk white, With their goodly belts about their necks, With their hats and feathers all alike.

The King he writes a loving letter,

And with his own hand so tenderlyAnd hath sent it unto Johnny Armstrong, To come and speak with him speedily.

When John he looked this letter upon,

He looked as blithe as a bird in a tree:

I was never before a king in my life,—

My father, my grandfather; not one of us three.

But seeing we must go before the king,
Lord!-we will go most gallantly;

Ye shall every one have a velvet coat,
Laid down with golden laces three.

And every one shall have a scarlet cloak,
Laid down with silver laces five;
With your golden belts about your necks,
With hats and feathers all alike.

But when Johnny went from Gillnock-hall,

The wind it blew hard, and full fast it did rain,—

Now fare thee well, thou Gillnock-hall,

I fear I shall never see thee again.

Now Johnny he is to Edinborough gone,
With his eightscore men so gallantly;

And every one of them on a milk-white steed,

With their swords and bucklers hanging to their knee.

JOHNNY ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT.

But when John came the King before,

With his eightscore men so gallant to see; The king he moved his bonnet to him,

He thought he had been a king as well as he!

O pardon, pardon, my sovereign liege,
Pardon for my eightscore men and me;
For my name it is Johnny Armstrong,
And subject of yours, my liege, said he.

Away with thee, thou false traitor,
No pardon will I grant to thee;

But to-morrow morning by eight of the clock,
I will hang up thy eightscore men and thee.

Then Johnny looked over his left shoulder,
And to his merry men thus said he,-
I have asked grace of a graceless face,
No pardon there is for you and me.

Then Johnny pulled out his good broad-sword,
That was made of the mettle so free:

Had not the King moved his foot as he did,
John had taken his head from his fair body.

Come, follow me, my merry men all,

We will scorn one foot for to fly;

It shall never be said we were hanged like dogs—
We will fight it out most manfully.

Then they fought on like champions bold,

For their hearts were sturdy, stout, and free,
Till they had killed all the King's good guard;
There were now left alive but one, two, or three.

But then rose up all Edinborough,
They rose up by thousands three ;
A cowardly Scot came John behind,
And run him through the fair body.

157

Said John, Fight on, my merry men all,
I am a little wounded, but am not slain;
I will lay me down and bleed awhile,
Then I'll rise and fight again.

Then they fought on like madmen all,

Till many a man lay dead on the plain; For they were resolved before they would yield, That every man would there be slain.

So there they fought courageously,

Till most of them dead lay there and slain; But little Musgrave, that was his foot page, With his bonny grissel got away unta'en.

But when he came to Gillnock-hall,

The Lady 'spied him presently;

What news, what news, thou little foot-page, What news from thy master and his company?

My news is bad, Lady, he said,

Which I do bring, as you may see: My master, Johnny Armstrong, is slain, And all his gallant company.

"Yet thou art welcome home, my bonny grissel, Full oft thou hast been fed with corn and hay; But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine, And thy sides shall be spurred no more, I say.”

O then bespake his little son,

As he sat on his nurse's knee:

"If ever I live to be a man,

My Father's death revenged shall be!"

EVANS.