Lamkin, Long Lankin, Bilankin -- Old English Murder Ballad

I've been amusing myself with terrifying old murder ballads. Here's one from Francis James Child's collection that should be turned into a Hollywood film any day now.

93F.1 SAID my lord to his ladye,
 as he mounted his horse, (bis)
 Take care of Long Lankyn,
 who lies in the moss. (bis)
93F.2 Said my lord to his ladye,
 as he rode away,
 Take care of Long Lankyn,
 who lies in the clay.
93F.3 Let the doors be all bolted,
 and the windows all pinned,
 And leave not a hole
 for a mouse to creep in.
93F.4 Then he kissed his fair ladye,
 and he rode away;
 He must be in London
 before break of day.
93F.5 The doors were all bolted,
 and the windows were pinned,
 All but one little window,
 where Long Lankyn crept in.
93F.6 ‘Where is the lord of this house?’
 said Long Lankyn:
 ‘He is gone to fair London,’
 said the false nurse to him.
93F.7 ‘Where is the ladye of this house?’
 said Long Lankyn:
 ‘She’s asleep in her chamber,’
 said the false nurse to him.
93F.8 ‘Where is the heir of this house?’
 said Long Lankyn:
 ‘He’s asleep in his cradle,’
 said the false nurse to him.
 * * * * *
93F.9 ‘We’ll prick him, and prick him,
 all over with a pin,
 And that will make your ladye
 to come down to him.’
93F.10 So she pricked him and pricked,
 all over with a pin,
 And the nurse held a basin
 for the blood to run in.
93F.11 ‘Oh nurse, how you sleep!
 Oh nurse, how you snore!
 And you leave my little son Johnstone
 to cry and to roar.’
93F.12 ‘I’ve tried him with suck,
 and I’ve tried him with pap;
 So come down, my fair ladye,
 and nurse him in your lap.’
93F.13 ‘Oh nurse, how you sleep!
 Oh nurse, how you snore!
 And you leave my little son Johnstone
 to cry and to roar.’
93F.14 ‘I’ve tried him with apples,
 I’ve tried him with pears;
 So come down, my fair ladye,
 and rock him in your chair.’
93F.15 ‘How can I come down,
 ’tis so late in the night,
 When there’s no candle burning,
 nor fire to give light?’
93F.16 ‘You have three silver mantles
 as bright as the sun;
 So come down, my fair ladye,
 by the light of one.’
 [The lady she cam down
 the stair trip for trap;
 Who so ready as Bold Lambkin
 to meet her in the dark?
93E.18 ‘Gude morrow, gude morrow,’
 said Bold Lambkin then;
 ‘Gude morrow, gude morrow,’
 said the lady to him.
93E.19 ‘O where is Lord Montgomery?
 or where is he gone?’
 ‘O he is up to England,
 to wait on the king.’
93E.20 ‘O where are your servants?
 or where are they gone?’
 ‘They are all up to England,
 to wait upon him.]
93F.17 ‘Oh spare me, Long Lankyn,
 oh spare me till twelve o’clock,
 You shall have as much gold
 as you can carry on your back.’
93F.18 ‘If I had as much gold
 as would build me a tower,’
 [‘I’ll give you as much gold, Lambkin,
 as you’ll put in a peck,
 If you’ll spare my life
 till my lord comes back.’
93E.22 ‘Tho you would [give] me as much
 as I could put in a sack,
 I would not spare thy life
 till thy lord comes back.’]
93F.19 ‘Oh spare me, Long Lankyn,
 oh spare me one hour,
 You shall have my daughter Betsy,
 she is a sweet flower.’
93F.20 ‘Where is your daughter Betsy?
 she may do some good;
 She can hold the silver basin,
 to catch your heart’s blood.’
 [‘To hold my lady’s heart’s blood
 would make my heart full woe;
 O rather kill me, Lankyn,
 and let my lady go.’]
93F.21 Lady Betsy was sitting
 in her window so high,
 And she saw her father,
 as he was riding by.
93F.22 ‘Oh father, oh father,
 don’t lay the blame on me;
 ’Twas the false nurse and Long Lankyn
 that killed your ladye.’
3L.7 [There was blood in the chamber,
 and blood in the hall,
 And blood in his ladie’s room,
 which he liked worst of all.]
93F.23 Then Long Lankyn was hanged
 on a gallows so high,
 And the false nurse was burnt
 in a fire just by.

You can read more versions of Lamkin here, or listen to it performed in this creepy earworm.

Those irked I'm into weird European poetry now can enjoy this American folk music version of Lamkin:

Bold Lankin becomes "Bo Lankins" and "false nurse" becomes "Faultress" in this. Such mishearings are typical of folk song evolution passed through oral tradition/performance rather than written.

My most exciting research turned up the oldest known print version, from 1770s Scotland as "Lammikin" -- written in a nice old style Scots dialect, and said to be sung "to the tune of Gil Morrice."

A better mason than Lammikin
Never builded wi the stane:
Quha builded Lord Weires castell,
Bot wages nevir gat nane.
"Sen ȝe winnae gie me my guerdon, Lord,

Sen ȝe winnae gie me my hire,

Yon proud castle, sae stately built,

I sall gar rock wi the fyre.

Sen ȝe winnae gie me my wages, Lord,

Ȝe sall hae cause to rue."

And syne he brewed a black revenge,

And syne he vowed a vow.

"Now byde at hame, my luve, my life,

I warde ȝe byde at hame:

O gang nae to this day's hunting,

To leave me a my lane!

Ȝestreene, ȝestreene, I dreamt my bower

Of red, red blude was fu.

Gin ye gang to this black hunting, 

I sall hae cause to rue."

"Quha looks to dreams, my winsome dame?

Ȝe hae nae cause to feare."

And syne he's kist her comely cheek,

And syne the starting teare.

And syne he's gane to the good greene wode,

And she to her painted bowir;

And she's gard steek doors, windows, yates,

Of castle, ha, and towir.

They steeked doors, they steeked yates,

Close to the cheek and chin:

They steeked them a but a little wicket,

And Lammikin crap in.

"Now quhere's the Lady of this castle,

Nurse tell to Lammikin."

"She's sewing up intill her bowir,"

The fals Nourice she sung.

Lammikin nipped the bonny babe,

Quhile loud fals Nourice sings:

Lammikin nipped the bonny babe,

Quhile hich the red blude springs.

"O gentil Nourice! please my babe,

O please him wi the keys!"

"It'll no be pleased, gay lady,

Gin I'd sit on my knees."

"Gude gentle Nourice, please my babe,

O please him wi a knife!"

"He winnae be pleased, mistress mine,

Gin I wad lay down my life."

"Sweet Nourice, loud, loud cries my babe,

O please him wi the bell!"

"He winnae be pleased, gay lady,

Till ȝe cum down yoursell."

And quehen she saw the red, red blude,

A loud schrich schriched she.

"O monster, monster! Spare my child,

Quha nevir skaithed thee.

O spare! gif in your bludy breast

Albergs not heart of stane!

O spare! and ye sall hae of goud

Quhat ȝe can carrie hame."

"Dame, I want not your goud," he said;

"Dame, I want not your see;

I hae been wranged by your Lord,

Ȝe sall black vengeance drie.

Here are nae serfs to guard your hall,

Nae trusty speirmen here;

They sound the horne in gude greene wode,

And chasse the doe and deer.

Tho merry sounds the gude grene wode,

Wi huntsmen, hounds and horn,

Ȝour Lord sall rue, e'er sets your sun,

He has done me skaith and scorn."

And it's there the version ends, without saying what exactly Lammikin does to the Lord's wife after luring her downstairs. A longer version of what seems otherwise to be the same song can be found.

In my continued search for info about the Lammikin song, I found the oldest version of the tune. It's apparently out of a now lost manuscript of the 1690s (sometimes said to be 1578, but that appears to actually be the library call number) which in a copy is referred to as the Blaikie MS.

Interestingly, the version of the music doesn't match well with the oldest lyrics, but makes a better fit to Child's version E:

93E.1 LAMBKIN was as good a mason
 as ever laid stone;
 He builded Lord Montgomery’s castle,
 but payment got none.
93E.2 He builded the castle
 without and within;
 But he left an open wake
 for himself to get in.
93E.3 Lord Montgomery said to his lady,
 when he went abroad,
 Take care of Bold Lambkin,
 for he is in the wood.
93E.4 ‘Gar bolt the gate, nourice,
 without and within,
 Leave not the wake open,
 to let Bold Lambkin in.’
93E.5 She bolted the gates,
 without and within,
 But she left the wake open,
 to let Bold Lambkin in.
93E.6 ‘Gude morrow, gude morrow,’
 says Bold Lambkin then;
 ‘Gude morrow, gude morrow,’
 says the false nurse to him.
93E.7 ‘Where is Lord Montgomery?
 or where is he gone?’
 ‘He is gone up to England,
 to wait on the king!
93E.8 ‘Where are the servants?
 and where are they gone?’
 ‘They are all up to England,
 to wait upon him.’
93E.9 ‘Where is your lady?
 or where is she gone?’
 ‘She is in her bower sitting,
 and sewing her seam.’
93E.10 ‘O what shall we do
 for to make her come down?’
 ‘We’ll kill the pretty baby,
 that’s sleeping so sound.’
93E.11 Lambkin he rocked,
 and the false nurse she sung,
 And she stabbed the babe to the heart
 with a silver bodkin.
93E.12 ‘O still my babe, nourice,
 O still him with the pap:’
 ‘He’ll no be stilled, madam,
 for this nor for that.’
93E.13 ‘O still my babe, nourice,
 go still him with the keys:’
 ‘He’ll no be stilled, madam,
 let me do what I please.’
93E.14 ‘O still my babe, nourice,
 go still him with the bell:’
 ‘He’ll no be stilled, madam,
 till you come down yoursel.’
93E.15 ‘How can I come down,
 this cold winter night,
 When there’s neither coal burning,
 nor yet candle-light?’
93E.16 ‘The sark on your back
 is whiter than the swan;
 Come down the stair, lady,
 by the light of your hand.’
93E.17 The lady she cam down
 the stair trip for trap;
 Who so ready as Bold Lambkin
 to meet her in the dark?
93E.18 ‘Gude morrow, gude morrow,’
 said Bold Lambkin then;
 ‘Gude morrow, gude morrow,’
 said the lady to him.
93E.19 ‘O where is Lord Montgomery?
 or where is he gone?’
 ‘O he is up to England,
 to wait on the king.’
93E.20 ‘O where are your servants?
 or where are they gone?’
 ‘They are all up to England,
 to wait upon him.
93E.21 ‘I’ll give you as much gold, Lambkin,
 as you’ll put in a peck,
 If you’ll spare my life
 till my lord comes back.’
93E.22 ‘Tho you would [give] me as much
 as I could put in a sack,
 I would not spare thy life
 till thy lord comes back.’
93E.23 Lord Montgomery sate in England,
 drinking with the king;
 The buttons flew off his coat,
 all in a ring.
93E.24 ‘God prosper, God prosper
 my lady and son!
 For before I get home
 they will all be undone.’

(Montgomery is the main piece that doesn't fit in the first verse, but reading Child's collection one sees how the aristocrat's name varies greatly, with two syllable names like Early, Arran, Murray and Wearie being common.)

For some reason the tune reminds me a bit, superficially, of this contemporary tune by Henry Purcell: