The chain of gold in the first stanza and the penknife below the bed in the fourth have a false ring, and the story is of the tritest. The ballad seems at best to be a late one, and is perhaps mere imitation, but, for an imitation, the last two stanzas are unusually successful. 1 Lady Erskine sits in her chamber, Sewing at her silken seam, A chain of gold for Childe Owlet, As he goes out and in. 2 But it fell ance upon a day She unto him did say, Ye must cuckold Lord Ronald, For a’ his lands and ley. 3 ‘O cease! forbid, madam,’ he says, ‘That this shoud eer be done! How would I cuckold Lord Ronald, And me his sister’s son?’ 4 Then she’s ta’en out a little penknife, That lay below her bed, Put it below her green stay’s cord, Which made her body bleed. 5 Then in it came him Lord Ronald, Hearing his lady’s moan; ‘What blood is this, my dear,’ he says, ‘That sparks on the fire-stone?’ 6 ‘Young Childe Owlet, your sister’s son, Is now gane frae my bower; If I hadna been a good woman, I’d been Childe Owlet’s whore.’ 7 Then he has taen him Childe Owlet, Laid him in prison strong, And all his men a council held How they woud work him wrong. 8 Some said they woud Childe Owlet hang, Some said they woud him burn; Some said they woud have Childe Owlet Between wild horses torn. 9 ‘There are horses in your stables stand Can run right speedilie, And ye will to your stable go, And wile out four for me.’ 10 They put a foal to ilka foot, And are to ilka hand, And sent them down to Darling muir, As fast as they coud gang. 11 There was not a kow in Darling muir, Nor ae piece o a rind, But drappit o Childe Owlet’s blude And pieces o his skin. 12 There was not a kow in Darling muir, Nor ae piece o a rash, But drappit o Childe Owlet’s blude And pieces o his flesh. 292 THE WEST-COUNTRY DAMOSEL’S COMPLAINT =a.= Douce Ballads, II, fol. 254 b; Roxburghe Ballads, II, 499, Ebsworth, VI, 635. =b.= Douce Ballads, II, 245 b. Also, Crawford Ballads, No 1331, Euing, 384. All the five: Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball in West-Smithfield, neer the Hospital-gate. (1672-95.) A maid entreats her lover, William, to marry her or put an end to her life. He unfeelingly bids her go to the wood and live on hips and haws. She leads this life for three months; then, exhausted with the hardship, goes to her sister’s house and begs an alms of food. The sister (who is her rival, st. 18) orders her men to hunt away the wild doe, and they drive her back to the forest, where she lies down and dies. Sweet William comes, stands at her head and her feet, kisses her, gives vent to his repentance and admiration in intense and elaborate expressions, then lies down by her side and dies.