Lord Beichan and Susie Pye Tales of the Olden Lord Beichan was a noble lord, A noble lord of high degree; In ilka shoulder was put a bore, In ilka bore was put a tree; And heavy loads they made him draw, Then he was cast in a dungeon deep, Where he cou'd neither hear nor see; The Moor he had an only daughter, Lord Beichan's prison she pass'd by. Young Susie Pye had a tender heart, And sore she sigh'd, she knew not why, "Oh, were I but the prison keeper, I soon wou'd set this youth at large, Tales of the Olden She gave the keeper a piece of gold, Lord Beichan he did marvel sore, The Moor's fair daughter there to see; But took her for some captive maid, Brought from some land in Christendie. For when she saw his wretched plight, "Oh, have ye any lands," she said, 66 Oh, I have lands both fair and braid, 66 Plight me the truth of your right hand, The truth of it here plight to me, That till seven years are past and gone, No lady ye will wed but me." "For seven long years I do make a vow, And seven long years I'll keep it true, If you wed with no other man, No other lady I'll wed but you." Then she has bribed the prison-keeper, A ring she from her finger broke, 66 And half of it to him gave she,- She had him put on good shipboard, Lord Beichan turn'd him round about, But Susie Pye cou'd get no rest, Nor day nor night cou'd happy be; For something whisper'd in her breast, "Lord Beichan will prove false to thee." Tales of the Olden Time Tales of the Olden So she set foot on good shipboard, Then she sailed west, and she sailed north, Unto fair England's shore she came. Then she went to Lord Beichan's gate, The porter ready answer made,— With bride and guests assembled all." "And has he betroth'd another love, "Bear to your lord, ye proud porter, "And bid him send one bit of bread, And bid him send one cup of wine, Unto the maid he hath betray'd, Tho' she freed him from cruel pine." The porter hasten'd to his lord, And fell down on his bended knee: "My lord, a lady stands at your gate, The fairest lady I e'er did see. "On every finger she has a ring, It's out then spake the bride's mother, "My dame, your daughter's fair enough, Her beauty's not denied by me; But were she ten times fairer still, With this lady ne'er compare cou'd she. My lord, she asks one bit of bread, And bids you send one cup of wine; And to remember the lady's love, Who freed you out of cruel pine." Tales of the Olden Time |