"She shanna want gowd, she shanna want fee, Although her love was easie won; She shanna want gowd to gain a man wi', And she'll still be the fair flow'r o' Northumberland." 60 BLANCHEFLOUR, AND JELLYFLORICE. From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 125. A fragment of the ancient English romance of _Florice and Blancheflour_ is printed in Hartshorne's _Metrical Tales_, p. 81. For the complete story (hardly a trace of which is retained in the following ballad) see Ellis's _Early English Metrical Romances_. There was a maid, richly array'd, In robes were rare to see; For seven years and something mair, She serv'd a gay ladie. But being fond o' a higher place, 5 In service she thought lang; She took her mantle her about, Her coffer by the band. And as she walk'd by the shore side, As blythe's a bird on tree, 10 Yet still she gaz'd her round about, To see what she could see. At last she spied a little castle, That stood near by the sea; She spied it far, and drew it near, 15 To that castle went she. And when she came to that castle, She tirled at the pin; And ready stood a little wee boy To lat this fair maid in. 20 "O who's the owner of this place, O porter boy, tell me?" "This place belongs unto a queen O' birth and high degree." She put her hand in her pocket, 25 And ga'e him shillings three; "O porter bear my message well, Unto the queen frae me." The porter's gane before the queen, Fell low down on his knee; 30 "Win up, win up, my porter boy, What makes this courtesie?" "I ha'e been porter at your yetts, My dame, these years full three, But see a ladie at your yetts, 35 The fairest my eyes did see." "Cast up my yetts baith wide and braid, Lat her come in to me; And I'll know by her courtesie, Lord's daughter if she be." 40 When she came in before the queen, Fell low down on her knee; "Service frae you, my dame, the queen, I pray you grant it me." "If that service ye now do want, 45 What station will ye be? Can ye card wool, or spin, fair maid, Or milk the cows to me?" "No, I can neither card nor spin, Nor cows I canno' milk; 50 But sit into a lady's bower, And sew the seams o' silk." "What is your name, ye comely dame? Pray tell this unto me: "O Blancheflour, that is my name, 55 Born in a strange countrie."