Lamkin (Child 93) - Sandy Easton

Bold Lamkin / Bolakins / Beau Lamkins / Bo Lamkin / Long Lankin / Long Langkin / Cruel Lincoln / False Lanky / False Lamkin / Lambkin / False Lamkins / False Lampkins / Squire Relantman / Lammikin / False Lankum / Lamkin (Child No. 93) - Sung by Alexander Cooper Black "Sandy" Easton of Livingston. Recorded by Hamish Henderson 1971.09.

Note by Kevin W.:
Sandy has to be one of my favourite Scottish revival singers. He learned it from a Ewan MacColl record, "The Long Harvest", I assume. Here is MacColl's version of the ballad:    • Lamkin (Child 93) (1966) - Ewan MacColl  

The only field recording of a Scottish text I have is a fragment recorded by Dr. Carpenter from Alexander Robb of New Deer, Aberdeenshire in the 1930s:    • Lamkin (Child 93) (Noise Reduced) - Alexan...  

This ballad was pretty much extinct in Scotland. A very full version has been recorded in Ireland recently from a Traveller, John Reilly Jr. and excellent texts have been collected in America, too.

Here is John Reilly Jr.'s Irish version:    • False Lankum (Child 93) - John Reilly Jr.  

In my opinion the "Lamkin was a mason who didn't get paid" opening was part of the original ballad and dropped from the Northumberland form. Without this opening the ballad turns into even more of a bloody children's boogeyman story.

Song transcription:

Lamkin was as guid a mason
As ever built wi' stane;
And he built Lord Wearie's castle
But payment he got nane.

O pay me, Lord Wearie,
Come pay me my fee;
I canna pay thee, Lamkin,
For I maun gang ower the sea.

O pay me, Lord Wearie,
Come pay me oot o' hand;
I canna pay thee, Lamkin,
Unless I sell my land.

O gin ye winna pay me,
I hear shall mak' a vow,
Before that ye come hame again,
Ye shall hae cause to rue.

Lord Wearie's got a bonnie boat,
To sail ower the foam,
Telt his lady weel the castle keep
Until that he come hame.

But the nurse was as fause a limmer
As ever hung on tree;
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin
While her Lord was ower the sea.

She laid a plot wi' Lamkin
When the servants were awa',
Loot him in at a wee shot window
And led him to the ha'.

O whaur's a' the men o' this hoose
That ca' me Lamkin?
They're a' at the barn thrashin',
'Twill be lang e'er they come in.

And whaur's the women o' this hoose,
That ca' me Lamkin?
They're a' at the well a-washin',
'Twill be lang e'er they come in.

And whaur's a' the bairns o' this hoose,
That ca' me Lamkin?
They're a' at the school a-readin',
'Twill be lang e'er they come in.

And whaur's the lady o' the hoose
That ca's me Lamkin?
She's up in her bower sewing,
But we soon can bring her doon.

Then Lamkin's ta'en a sharp knife,
That hung doon by his gair;
And he has gi'en the bonnie babe
A sharp wound and a sair.

The Lamkin he rocked the cradle
And the fause nourice sang;
Till frae ilka bore o' the cradle
The red blood oot sprang.

Then oot it spak the lady
As she stood on the stair:
O nurse, nurse, what ails my bonnie bairn
That he's greetin' sae sair?

O nurse, nurse, still my bairn
O still him wi' the pap,
He winna still lady,
No' for this nor for that

O nurse, nurse, still my bairn,
O still him wi' the wand,
He winna still, lady,
No' for a' his faither's land.

O nurse, nurse, still my bairn,
O still him wi' the bell,
O he winna still, lady
Till ye come doon yoursel'.

O the firsten step she steppit,
She steppit on a stane,
But the neisten step she steppit,
She met him, Lamkin.

O mercy, mercy, Lamkin,
Ha' mercy on me:
Though you hae ta'en my young son,
I pray ye let me be.

O nurse, nurse, shall we kill her,
Or shall we let her be?
O kill her, kill her, Lamkin,
She was ne'er good to me.

Then scour oot the basin,
And mak it' fair and clean,
For to catch the lady's hert's blood
For she comes o' a noble kin.

We need nae basin, Lamkin,
Let it run through the flair,
What better is the hert's blood
O' the rich than o' the puir?

When three months were passit,
Lord Wearie cam again,
And dowie, dowie was his heart
When that he come hame.

O wha's is a' this bluid he says,
That lies into my chalmer?
O, it is your lady's heart's blood
'Twas as clear as the Jammer.

And wha's is a' this blood, he says,
That lies into my ha'?
O it is your young son's heart's blood,
'Twas the clearest o' al'.

O sweetly sang the blackbird
As he sat on yon tree,
But sairer grat Lamkin
When he was condemned to dee.

And loudly sang the lintie
Oot o' his thorny brake,
But sairer grat the fause nurse
When she burnt at the stake.