Hughie Grame

Originale

La versione di June Tabor, trovata su Mainly Norfolk: English...

HUGHIE GRAME As it befell upon one time, About mid-summer of the year, Every man was taxt of his crime, For stealing the good Lord Bishop's mare. The good Lord Screw he sadled a horse, And rid after this same scrime; Before he did get over the moss, There was he aware of Sir Hugh of the Grime. 'Turn, O turn, thou false traytor, Turn, and yield thyself unto me; Thou hast stolen the Lord Bishops mare, And now thou thinkest away to flee.' 'No, soft, Lord Screw, that may not be! Here is a broad sword by my side, And if that thou canst conquer me, The victory will soon be try'd.' 'I ner was afraid of a traytor bold, Although thy name be Hugh in the Grime; I'le make thee repent thy speeches foul, If day and life but give me time.' 'Then do thy worst, good Lord Screw, And deal your blows as fast as you can; It will be try'd between me and you Which of us two shall be the best man.' Thus as they dealt their blows so free, And both so bloody at that time, Over the moss ten yeomen they see, Come for to take Sir Hugh in the Grime. Sir Hugh set his back against a tree, And then the men encompast him round; His mickle sword from his hand did flee, And then they brought Sir Hugh to the ground. Sir Hugh of the Grime now taken is And brought back to Garlard town; [Then cry'd] the good wives all in Garlard town, 'Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou 'st ner gang down. ' The good Lord Bishop is come to the town, And on the bench is set so high; And every man was taxt to his crime, At length he called Sir Hugh in the Grime. 'Here am I, thou false bishop, Thy humours all to fulfill; I do not think my fact so great But thou mayst put it into thy own will.' The quest of jury-men was calld, The best that was in Garlard town; Eleven of them spoke all in a breast, 'Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou 'st ner gang down. ' Then another questry-men was calld, The best that was in Rumary; Twelve of them spoke all in a breast, 'Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou'st now guilty.' Then came down my good Lord Boles, Falling down upon his knee: 'Five hundred peices of gold would I give, To grant Sir Hugh in the Grime to me.' 'Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles, And of your speeches set them by! If there be eleven Grimes all of a name, Then by my own honour they all should dye.' Then came down my good Lady Ward, Falling low upon her knee: 'Five hundred measures of gold I'le give, To grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me.' 'Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward, None of your proffers shall him buy! For if there be twelve Grimes all of a name, By my own honour they all should dye.' Sir Hugh of the Grime's condemnd to dye, And of his friends he had no lack; Fourteen foot he leapt in his ward, His hands bound fast upon his back. Then he lookt over his left shoulder, To see whom he could see or spy; Then was he aware of his father dear, Came tearing his hair most pittifully. 'Peace, peace, my father dear, And of your speeches set them by! Though they have bereavd me of my life, They cannot bereave me of heaven so high.' He lookt over his right shoulder, To see whom he could see or spye; There was he aware of his mother dear, Came tearing her hair most pittifully. 'Pray have me remembred to Peggy, my wife; As she and I walkt over the moor, She was the cause of [the loss of] my life, And with the old bishop she plaid the whore. 'Here, Johnny Armstrong, take thou my sword, That is made of the mettle so fine, And when thou comst to the border-side, Remember the death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.

HUGHIE GRAEME Lords are to the mountains gone, A-hunting of the fallow deer; They have grippit Hughie Graeme For stealing of the bishop's mare. They have bound him hand and foot, And led him up through Carlisle town; All the lads along the way Cried, “Hughie Graeme you shall hang.” “Loose my right hand free, he says, Put my broadsword in my hand; There's none in Carlisle town this day, Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graeme.” Up and spake the good Whitefoord, As he sat by the Bishop's knee, “Five hundred white stots [young oxen] I'll give you, If you'll give Hughie Graeme to me.” “Hold your tongue, my noble lord, And of your pleading let it be, Although ten Graemes were in this court, Hughie Graeme this day shall die.” Up and spake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the Bishop's knee; “Five hundred white pence I'll give you, If you'll let Hughie Graeme go free.” “Hold your tongue, my lady fair, And of your weeping let it be; Although ten Graemes were in this court, It's for my honour he must die.” They've ta'en him to the hanging hill And led him to the gallows tree; Ne'er the colour left his cheek, Nor ever did he blink his eye. Then he's looked him round about, Al for to see what he could see; There he saw his father dear, Weeping, weeping bitterly. “Hold your tongue, my father dear, And of your weeping let it be; It sorer, sorer grieves my heart Than all that they could do to me. And you may give my brother John My sword that's made of the metal clear; And bid him come at twelve of the clock And see me pay the Bishop's mare. And you may give my brother James My sword that's made of the metal brown; And bid him come at four of the clock And see his brother Hugh cut down. Remember me to Maggy my wife, The next time ye come o'er the moor; Tell her, she stole the Bishop's mare, Tell her, she was the Bishop's whore. And you may tell my kith and kin, I never did disgrace their blood; And when they meet the Bishop's cloak, Leave it shorter by the hood.”