Saturday, June 23, 2012

Broomfield Wager

Traditional ballad (Scottish?) of which there are approximately one zillion versions. 


There once was a lord in the old country
And he courted a lady gay,
And as they were riding through the town 
It's a wager she did lay

And I will wager five hundred pounds
Five hundred pounds to one
That a maid I'll go to the Broomfield Hill
And a maid I will return

And there she stood at her bower door
And there she made her moan
Saying, Shall I go to the Broomfield Hill
Or shall I remain at home?

When up spoke an old witch woman
Sitting by the blazing burn
Saying, You will go to the Broomfield Hill
And a maid you will return

For when you get to the Broomfield Hill
You'll find your love asleep
With his horse and his hounds as his silky-satin gowns
And his ribbons all down to his feet

And you'll pluck the blossom off of the broom
And the blossom that smells so sweet
And you'll strew some around at the crown of his head
And some more at the soles of his feet

So she's away to the Broomfield Hill
And she found her love asleep
With his horse and his hounds as his silky-satin gowns
And his ribbons all down to his feet

And she plucked the blossom off of the broom
Saying, Oh but it smells sweet
And aye, the thicker she scattered it around
The deeper her love did sleep

And she took the gay gold ring from her finger
And she put it on his right hand
So that when he woke he would know
That his love had been there at his command

And when they saw him stir from his sleep
All the birds began to sing,
Crying, Awaken, awaken, awaken, Master,
Your lady's been and gone

Oh where were you, my good grey hound
And where were you, my steed?
That when my lady was so near
You did not waken me?

Oh, I stamped with my hoof, Master,
Till all the earth did hum
But all the more that I did stamp
Awaken would you none

And I barked out, 
But no kind thing would awaken you
Till your lady'd been and gone

So haste, haste, me good grey steed
To wherever she may be
Or all the birds of the Broomfield Hill
Will have their fill of thee

When she went out, she right bitter wept
But she came laughing home,
Saying, I have been to the Broomfield Hill
And a maid returned again

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