O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit, Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand! And lang, lang, may the maidens sit, Wi' their goud kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they'll see na mair. O forty miles off Aberdeen, 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. NOTES AND GLOSSARY. This ballad in its original form is a very old one, and was probably at first a metrical story of the Scotch expedition which was sent to bring the Maid of Norway to Scotland (about the year 1285). In its sixteenth-century form it shows many changes and additions, some of which are not in harmony with the original tale. The _cork-heel'd shoon_, for example, were unknown until some hundreds of years later than the occurrence of the events here narrated. =skeely=, skilful. =skipper=, captain. =braid=, open, not private. =goud=, gold. =fee= (see note 13, page 105). =gane=, suffice. =half-fou=, a quart, dry measure. =alake=, alack. =lift=, sky. (Still used in Scotland.) =shoon=, shoes. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, And he was a squires son; He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, That lived in Islington. Yet she was coye, and would not believe That he did love her soe, Noe nor at any time would she Any countenance to him showe. But when his friendes did understand His fond and foolish minde, They sent him up to faire London, An apprentice for to binde. And when he had been seven long yeares, And never his love could see,-- "Many a teare have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of mee." Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and playe, All but the bayliffes daughter deare; She secretly stole awaye. She pulled off her gowne of greene, And put on ragged attire, And to faire London she would go Her true love to enquire. And as she went along the high road, The weather being hot and drye, She sat her downe upon a green bank, And her true love came riding bye. She started up, with a colour soe redd, Catching hold of his bridle-reine; "One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd, "Will ease me of much paine." "Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, Praye tell me where you were borne." "At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee, "Where I have had many a scorne." "I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, O tell me, whether you knowe The bayliffes daughter of Islington." "She is dead, sir, long agoe."