Young Bicham
In London city was Bicham born,
He longd strange countries for to see,
But he was taen by a savage Moor,
Who handld him right cruely.
For thro his shoulder he put a bore,
An thro the bore has pitten a tree,
And he's gard him draw the carts o wine,
Where horse and oxen had wont to be.
He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep,
Where he coud neither hear nor see;
He's shut him up in a prison strong,
An he's handld him right cruely.
O this Moor he had but ae daughter,
I wot her name was Shusy Pye;
She's doen her to the prison-house,
And she's calld young Bicham one word by.
'O hae ye ony lands or rents,
Or citys in your ain country,
Coud free you out of prison strong,
An coud maintain a lady free?'
O London city is my own,
An other citys twa or three,
Coud loose me out o prison strong,
An could maintain a lady free.'
O she has bribed her father's men
Wi meikle goud and white money,
She's gotten the key o the prison doors,
And she has set Young Bicham free.
She's gi'n him a loaf o good white bread,
But an a flask o Spanish wine,
An she bad him mind on the ladie's love
That sae kindly freed him out o pine.
'Go set your foot on good ship-board,
An haste you back to your ain country,
An before that seven years has an end,
Come back again, love, and marry me.'
It was long or seven years had an end
She longd fu sair her love to see;
She's set her foot on good ship-board,
An turnd her back on her ain country.
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poem by Andrew Lang
Added by Poetry Lover
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