“Gae back, gae back, ye fause ill wife, To the grave wherein ye lie, It never was seen that a dead leman Kept lover’s company!
“Gae back, gae back frae me,” he said, “For this day maun I wed, And how can I kiss a living lass, When ye come frae the dead?
“If ye maun haunt a living man, Your brither haunt,” says he, “For it was never my knife, but his That [twined thy life and thee!]”
We are to understand, I make no doubt, that Willie had been too fortunate a lover, and that in his absence—the frailty of his lady becoming conspicuous—her brother had avenged the family honour according to that old law of Scotland which the courteous Ariosto styles “l’ aspra legge di Scozia, empia e severa.”
Pray let me know, at your leisure, what you think of this _trouvaille_. It is, of course, entirely at your service, if you think it worthy of a place in a new edition of the “Minstrelsy.” I have no room to inflict more ballads or legends on you; and remain, most faithfully yours,
_From Jonathan Oldbuck_, _Esq._, _of Monkbarns_, _to Robert Surtees_, _Esq._, _Mainsforth_.
MY DEAR SIR,—How kind hath Fortune been to you, and, in a secondary degree, to myself. Your letter must dispel the unreasoning and I fear envious scepticism of MacCribb, who has put forth a plaunflet (I love that old spelling) in which he derides the history of Aldobrand Oldenbuck as a fable. The Ballad shall, indeed, have an honoured place in my poor Collection whenever the public taste calls for a new edition. But the original, what would I not give to have it in my hands, to touch the very parchment which came from the press of my revered ancestor, and, gloating on the crabbed letters, confute MacCribb to his face _ipso visu et tactu_ of so inestimable a rarity. Exchanges—or “swaps,” as the vulgar call them—are not unknown among our fraternity. Ask what you will for this treasure, to the half of my kingdom: my gold Aurelius (found at Bermuckety, on the very limits of Roman Caledonia), my “Complaynte of Scotland” (the only perfect copy known),
My copperplate, with almanacks Engrav’d upon’t, and other knacks; My moon-dial, with Napier’s bones And several constellation stones.
Make your choice, in fact, of all my Gabions, as honest old George Ruthven called them.