> Peter Bellamy > Songs > The Burning

The Burning

[ Roud 45 ; Child 65#G ; Ballad Index C065 ; words trad., music Peter Bellamy]

Peter Bellamy sang The Burning unaccompanied to his own tune on his 1975 album Tell It Like It Was. He commented in the album's liner notes:

This fragment, probably of the ballad Lady Maisry, was brought to my attention by a good friend and singer, John Moreton, who found the words in an old Norfolk miscellany. The tune is mine.

Lyrics

My father was the first good man
Who tied me to the stake;
My mother was the first good woman,
She did the fire make.

My brother was the second good man,
He did the fire fetch;
And my sister was the second good woman
Who lighted it with a match.

And they blew the fire, they kindled the fire
Till it did reach my knee:
“Oh mother, mother, quench the fire!
For the smoke do smother me.”

Oh had I but my little foot-page,
An errand he might run;
I would send him away to London gay
To bid my lord come home.

Well, by there stood by her sister’s child,
Her own dear sister’s son:
“It's many an errand I’ve run for thee
And this one too I’ll run.”

He ran, where the bridge it were broken down,
He bent his bow and swam;
He swam till he came to the good green land,
There he jumped to his feet and ran.

And he ran till he came to his uncle’s hall
Where is uncle sat at meat:
“Good meat, good meat, good uncle, I pray,
if you knew what I have to say,
How little you would eat!”

“Oh is my castle broken down,
Or is my tower won?
Or is my lady brought to bed
Of a daughter or a son?”

“Your castle is not broken down,
Nor is your tower won;
Nor is your lady brought to bed
Of a daughter or a son.”

“But she has give me a gay gold ring
With posies round the rim,
And she swears if you bear any love for her,
You will ride to her burning.”

So he's called up his merry men
By one, by two, by three;
And heÄs mounted upon his milk-white steed
To ride to Margery.

She's looked o'er her left shoulder,
Saw her girdle hanging free:
“Oh God bless them that gave me this!
For no more they’ll give to me.”

She's looked o'er her right shoulder,
Saw her lord come riding home:
“Oh mother, mother, quench the fire,
For I am nearly gone.”

But they blew the fire, they kindled the fire,
Till it did reach her chin:
“O mother, mother, quench the fire!
For I am nearly gone.”

He's mounted down from his milk-white steed
And into the fire he's run;
He was thinking to save his lady gay,
But he had staid too long.