We have thought it well to present the three best versions of so popular and interesting a ballad. The two which are given in the body of this work are Jamieson's, from _Popular Ballads_, ii. 117, and ii. 127. In the Appendix is Kinloch's, from _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 260. Other printed copies are _Lord Beichan_, in Richardson's _Borderer's Table Book_, vii. 20, communicated by J. H. Dixon, who has inserted the same in _Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs_, Percy Society, vol. xvii. p. 85; _Lord Bateman_, the common English broadside (at p. 95 of the collection just cited); and _Young Bondwell_, published from Buchan's MS. in _Scottish Traditionary Versions of Ancient Ballads_, p. 1, (Percy Soc. vol. xvii.) identical, we suppose, with the copy referred to by Motherwell in _Scarce Ancient Ballads_, Peterhead, 1819. There is a well-known burlesque of the ordinary English ballad, called _The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman_, with comical illustrations by Cruikshank. On this was founded a burlesque drama, produced some years ago at the Strand Theatre, London, with great applause. "This ballad, and that which succeeds it in this collection, (both on the same subject,) are given from copies taken from Mrs. Brown's recitation, collated with two other copies procured from Scotland, one in MS., another very good one printed for the stalls; a third, in the possession of the late Reverend Jonathan Boucher of Epsom, taken from recitation in the North of England; and a fourth, about one third as long as the others, which the Editor picked off an old wall in Piccadilly." Jamieson's interpolations have been omitted. In London was young Beichan born, He longed strange countries for to see; But he was taen by a savage moor, Who handled him right cruellie; For he viewed the fashions of that land; 5 Their way of worship viewed he; But to Mahound, or Termagant, Would Beichan never bend a knee. So in every shoulder they've putten a bore; In every bore they've putten a tree; 10 And they have made him trail the wine And spices on his fair bodie. They've casten him in a dungeon deep, Where he could neither hear nor see; For seven years they kept him there, 15 Till he for hunger's like to die. This Moor he had but ae daughter, Her name was called Susie Pye; And every day as she took the air, Near Beichan's prison she passed by. 20 O so it fell, upon a day She heard young Beichan sadly sing; "My hounds they all go masterless; My hawks they flee from tree to tree; My younger brother will heir my land; 25 Fair England again I'll never see!"