X:1
T:Chil' Brenton
T:Gil Brenton
C:Trad
B:Bronson
O:Ritson-Tytler-Brown MS., pp. 22-30.  Sung by Mrs Brown, Falkland,
O:Aberdeenshire; copied by Joseph Ritson, c. 1792-1794
N:Bronson's conjectural reading.
N:Word alignment is also extremely conjectural!
M:3/4
L:1/8
K:Em % Hexatonic ( -6) Dorian/Aeolian
G | BB A2 GE | E(D/E//G//) ({EF} E3) E |
w:Chil' Bren-ton has sent* o'er the**** fame, Chil'
EG B2 Be | dd ({AB} A7/) G/ | GE GB BE |
w:Bren-ton's brought his* lady*** hame; An' sev-en score o' ships came
dd ({AB}A2) GA | Bd BA GE | D(D/E//F//) (E/F/E3) |]
w:her wi',** The lad-y by the green* wood* tree.______
W:
W:Chil' Brenton has sent o'er the fame,
W:Chil' Brenton's brought his lady hame;
W:An' seven score o' ships came her wi',
W:The lady by the greenwood tree.
W:
W:There was twal' and twal' wi' beer and wine,
W:And twal' and twal' wi' muskadine,
W:And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour,
W:And twal' and twal' wi' the paramour,
W:
W:And twal' and twal' wi' baken bread,
W:And twal' and twal' wi' the gou'd sae red.
W:Sweet Willy was a widows son,
W:And at her stirrup foot he did run.
W:
W:An' she was dress'd i' the finest pa',
W:But ay she loot the tears down fa';
W:And she was dress'd wi' the finest flow'rs,
W:But ay she loot the tears down pour.
W:
W:"O is there water i' your shee?
W:Or does the wind blaw i' your glee?
W:Or are you mourning in your meed
W:That e'er you left your mither gueed?
W:
W:Or are you mourning i' your tide
W:That e'er you was Chil' Brentons bride?"
W:"There is nae water i' my shee,
W:Nor does the wind blaw i' my glee,
W:
W:Nor am i mourning i' my tide
W:That eter i was Chil' Brentons bride;
W:But i am mourning i' my meed
W:That e'er i left my mither gueed.
W:
W:But, bonny boy, (now) tell to me
W:What is the customs o' your country."
W:The customs o' it, my dame, he says,
W:Will ill a gentle lady please.
W:
W:Seven kings daughters has our king wedded,
W:An' seven kings daughters has our king bedded,
W:But he's cutted the paps frae their breast-bane,
W:An' sent them mourning hame again.
W:
W:But whan you come to the palace-yate
W:His mither a golden chair will set,
W:An' be you maid or be you nane,
W:O sit you there till the day be dane;
W:
W:And gin you're sure that you're a maid,
W:Ye may gang safely to his bed;
W:But if o' that ye be nae sure,
W:Then hire some virgin o' your bower.
W:
W:O whan she came to the palace-yate
W:His mither a golden chair did set,
W:An'was she maid or was she nane,
W:She sat in it till the day was dane.
W:
W:An' she's call'd on her bow'r-woman,
W:That waiting was her bow'r within:
W:"Five hundred pounds i'll gi to thee
W:An' sleep this night wi' the king for me."
W:
W:Whan bells was rung and mess was sung,
W:And a' man unto bed was gone,
W:Chil' Brenton and the bonny maid
W:'Intill' ae chamber they were laid.
W:
W:"O speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, sheets,
W:And speak to me, cods, that under me sleeps,
W:Is this a maid 'at i ha' wedded?
W:Is this a maid 'at i ha' bedded?"
W:
W:"It's not a maid that you had wedded,
W:But it's a maid 'at you ha' bedded;
W:Your lady lies in her bigly bow'r,
W:An' for you she drees mony sharp show'r."
W:
W:O he has ta'en him through the ha',
W:And on his mother he did ca':
W:"I am the most unhappy man
W:That ever was in christen'd lan';
W:
W:I woo'd a maiden meek and mild,
W:And i'vc marry'd a woman great wi' child."
W:"O stay, my son, into this ha',
W:An' sport you wi' your merry men a',
W:
W:And i'll gang to yon painted bow'r,
W:An' see how't fares wi' yon base whore."
W:The auld queen she was stark and strang,
W:She gar'd the door flee off the band;
W:
W:She gar'd the door Iye i' the fleer:
W:"O is your bairn to laird or loon?
W:Or is it to your fathers groom?"
W:"My bairn's nae to laird or loon,
W:
W:Nor is it to my fathers groom.
W:But hear me, mither, o' my knee,
W:'Till my hard wierd i tell to thee.
W:O we were sisters, sisters seven,
W:
W:We was the fairest under heaven;
W:We had nae mair for our seven years wark
W:But to shape and sew the kings son a sark.
W:It fell on a Saturdays afternoon,
W:
W:Whan a' our langsome wark was doone,
W:We kest the kavels us amang,
W:To see which should to the green-wood gang.
W:Ohon! alas! for i was youngest,
W:
W:An' ay my wierd it was the hardest,
W:The cavel it on me did fa',
W:Which was the cause of a' my woe;
W:For to the green-wood i must gae,
W:
W:To pu' the nut but an the slae,
W:To pu' the red rose and the thyme,
W:To strew my mithers bow'r and mine.
W:I had nae pu'd a flow'r but ane,
W:
W:Till by there came a jolly hind-greem,
W:Wi' high-coll'd hose and laighcoll'd sheen,
W:An' he seem'd to be some king his son;
W:And be i maid or be i nane,
W:
W:He kept me there till the day was dane;
W:And be i maid or be i nae,
W:He kept me there till the close o' day.
W:He gae me a lock o' yallow hair,
W:
W:An' bade me keep it for evermair;
W:He gae me a carket o' gude black beeds,
W:An' bade me keep them against my needs;
W:He gae to me a gay gold ring,
W:
W:An' bade me keep it aboon a' thing;
W:He gae to me a little penknife,
W:An' bade me keep it as my life."
W:"What did you wi' these tokens rare
W:
W:That ye got frae that young man there?"
W:"O bring that coffer unto me,
W:An' a' the tokens ye shall see."
W:And ay she ra[u]ked and she flang,
W:
W:Till a' the tokens came till her han'.
W:"O stay here, daughter, your bow'r within,
W:Till i gae parly wi' my son."
W:O she has ta'en her through the ha',
W:
W:An' on her son began to ca':
W:"What did you wi' that gay gold ring
W:I bade you keep aboon a' thing?
W:What did you wi' that little penknife
W:
W:I bade ye keep while ye had life?
W:What did ye wi' that yallow hair
W:I bade ye keep for evermair?
W:What did ye wi' that gude black beeds
W:
W:You should ha' kept against your needs?"
W:"I gae them till a lady gay
W:I met i' the green wood on a day;
W:And i would gie a' my ha's and tow'rs
W:
W:I had that bright bird i' my bow'rs;
W:I would gie a' my fathers lan'
W:I had that lady by the han'."
W:"O, son, keep still your ha's and tow'rs,
W:
W:You ha' that lady i' your bow'rs,
W:An' keep you still your fathers lan',
W:Youse get that lady by the han'."
W:Now or a month was come and gone
W:
W:This lady bare a bonny young son,
W:An' 'twas well written on his breast-bane,
W:"Chil' Brenton is my fathers name."
W:--- needs one more line ---