The Fire of Frendraught
The eighteenth of October,A dismal tale to hearHow good Lord John and RothiemayWas both burnt in the fire.
When steeds was saddled and well bridled,And ready for to ride,Then out it came her false Frendraught,Inviting them to bide.
Said, ‘Stay this night untill we sup,The morn untill we dine;’Twill be a token of good greement’Twixt your good lord and mine.’
‘We’ll turn again,’ said good Lord John;‘But no,’ said Rothiemay,‘My steed’s trapan’d, my bridle’s broken,I fear the day I’m fey.’
When mass was sung and bells was rung,And all men bound for bed,Then good Lord John and RothiemayIn one chamber was laid.
They had not long cast off their cloaths,And were but now asleep,When the weary smoke began to rise,Likewise the scorching heat.
‘O waken, waken, Rothiemay!O waken, brother dear!And turn you to our Saviour;There is strong treason here.’
When they were dressèd in their cloaths,And ready for to boun,The doors and windows was all secur’d,The roof-tree burning down.
He did him to the wire-window,As fast as he could gang;Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons!For out we’ll never win.
When he stood at the wire-window,Most doleful to be seen,He did espy her Lady Frendraught,Who stood upon the green.
Cried, ‘Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!Will ye not sink with sin?For first your husband killed my father,And now you burn his son.’
O then out spoke her Lady Frendraught,And loudly did she cry;‘It were great pity for good Lord John,But none for Rothiemay;But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well,Ye cannot get away.’
While he stood in this dreadful plight,Most piteous to be seen,There callèd out his servant Gordon,As he had frantic been:
‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come to me!I’ll catch you in my arms twa,One foot I will not flee.
‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come away!I’ll catch you in my arms twa,But Rothiemay may lie.’--
‘The fish shall never swim in the flood,Nor corn grow through the clay,Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindledTwin me and Rothiemay.
‘But I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot win to thee;My head’s fast in the wire-window,My feet burning from me.
‘My eyes are seething in my head,My flesh roasting also,My bowels are boiling with my blood;Is not that a woeful woe?
‘Take here the rings from my white fingers,That are so long and small,And give them to my lady fair,Where she sits in her hall.
‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot loup to thee;My earthly part is all consumed,My spirit but speaks to thee.’
Wringing her hands, tearing her hair,His lady she was seen,And thus address’d his servant Gordon,Where he stood on the green.
‘O wae be to you, George Gordon!An ill death may you die!So safe and sound as you stand there,And my lord bereaved for me!’--
‘I bad him loup, I bad him come,I bad him loup to me;I’d catch him in my arms twa,A foot I should not flee.
‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers,Which were so long and small,To give to you, his lady fair,Where you sat in your hall.’
Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay,O bonny Sophia was her name,Her waiting maid put on her cloaths,But I wot she tore them off again!
And aft she cried, ‘Ohon! alas!A sair heart’s ill to win;I wan a sair heart when I married him,And to-day it’s return’d again.’
Sophia Hay = wife of Lord John [Gordon], burned in this fire.She had jilted the young lord of Tolquhon to marry him, which explainsthe allusion in the last stanza.
Words in this poem 22
- dismal a.
- Fatal; ill-omened; unlucky. [Formerly a noun; e. g., "I trow it was in the dismalle." Chaucer. Of uncertain origin; but perh. (as suggested by Skeat) from OF. disme, F. dîme, tithe, the phr]
- saddled a.
- Having a broad patch of color across the back, like a saddle; saddle-backed.
- inviting a.
- Alluring; tempting; as, an inviting amusement or prospect.
- bide v. i.
- To dwell; to inhabit; to abide; to stay. [OE. biden, AS. bidan; akin to OHG. bitan, Goth. beidan, Icel. bi; perh. orig., to wait with trust, and akin to bid. See Bid, v. t., and cf. Abide.]
- untill prep.
- To; unto; towards; -- used of material objects. [OE. until, ontil; un- (as in unto) + til till; cf. Dan. indtil, Sw. intill. See Unto, and Till, prep.]
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
- dine v. i.
- To eat the principal regular meal of the day; to take dinner. [F. dîner, OF. disner, LL. disnare, contr. fr. an assumed disjunare; dis- + an assumed junare (OF. juner) to fast, for L. jejunare, fr. jejunus fasting. See Jeju]
- twill v. i.
- To weave, as cloth, so as to produce the appearance of diagonal lines or ribs on the surface. [Scotch tweel; probably from LG. twillen to make double, from twi- two; akin to AS. twi-, E. twi- in twilight. See Twice, and cf. Tweed, Tweel.]
- steed n.
- A horse, especially a spirited horse for state of war; -- used chiefly in poetry or stately prose. [OE. stede, AS. steda a stud-horse, war horse, fr. stod a stud of breeding steeds; akin to G. stute a mare, Icel. stedda, sto, a stud. *163. See Stud of horses.]
- rung n.
- A floor timber in a ship. [OE. ronge, AS. hrung, a staff, rod, pole; akin to G. runge a short, thick piece of iron or wood, OD. ronghe a prop, support, Icel. röng a rib in a ship, Goth. H]
- scorching a.
- Burning; parching or shriveling with heat.
- waken v. i.
- To wake; to cease to sleep; to be awakened. [OE. waknen, AS. wæcnan; akin to Goth. gawaknan. See Wake, v. i.]
- saviour n.
- One who saves, preserves, or delivers from destruction or danger. [OE. saveour, OF. salveor, F. sauveur, fr. L. salvator to save. See Save, v.]
- boun a.
- Ready; prepared; destined; tending. [See Bound ready.]
- spoke n.
- The radius or ray of a wheel; one of the small bars which are inserted in the hub, or nave, and which serve to support the rim or felly. [OE. spoke, spake, AS, spaca; akin to D. speek, LG. speke, OHG. speihha, G. speiche. sq. root170. Cf. Spike a nail.]
- dreadful a.
- Full of dread or terror; fearful.
- plight v. t.
- To weave; to braid; to fold; to plait. [OE. pliten; probably through Old French, fr. LL. plectare, L. plectere. See Plait, Ply.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- wringing
- a. & n. from Wring, v. Wringing machine, a wringer. See Wringer, 2.
- bonny a.
- Handsome; beautiful; pretty; attractively lively and graceful. [OE. boni, prob. fr. F. bon, fem. bonne, good, fr. L. bonus good. See Bounty, and cf. Bonus, Boon.]
- tore n.
- The dead grass that remains on mowing land in winter and spring. Mortimer. [Probably from the root of tear; cf. W. tór a break, cut, tóri to break, cut.]
- allusion n.
- A figurative or symbolical reference. [L. allusio, fr. alludere to allude: cf. F. allusion.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Fire of Frendraught is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Oxford Book of Ballads, Project Gutenberg ebook #44593; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Fire of Frendraught, in The Oxford Book of Ballads (before 1800), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #44593, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/oxford-ballads/the-fire-of-frendraught.html, id L08493.
Form and metre
The Fire of Frendraught is 109 lines in 27 stanzas. The metre is common measure, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 84%). 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.5 syllables. 19 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 6% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in common measure.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 2 -A-A bridled · rideA · frendraught · bideA
- 3 -A-A sup · dineA · greement · mineA
- 4 A-A- johnA · rothiemay · brokenA · fey
- 7 -A-A rothiemay · dearA · saviour · hereA
- 10 -A-A window · seenA · frendraught · greenA
- 13 -AAA plight · seenA · gordonA · beenA
- 14 -A-A master · meA · twa · fleeA
- 17 -A-A come · theeA · window · meA
- 19 -A-A fingers · smallA · fair · hallA
- 20 -A-A come · theeA · consumed · theeA
- 21 -AAA hair · seenA · gordonA · greenA
- 22 -A-A gordon · dieA · there · meA
- 23 -A-A come · meA · twa · fleeA
- 24 -A-A fingers · smallA · fair · hallA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against common measure. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| The eighteenth of October, | 7 | ·//·˘/˘ |
| A dismal tale to hear | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| How good Lord John and Rothiemay | 8 | ········ |
| Was both burnt in the fire. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| When steeds was saddled and well bridled, | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| And ready for to ride, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Then out it came her false Frendraught, | 8 | ········ |
| Inviting them to bide. | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| Said, ‘Stay this night untill we sup, | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| The morn untill we dine; | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| ’Twill be a token of good greement | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| ’Twixt your good lord and mine.’ | 6 | ······ |
| ‘We’ll turn again,’ said good Lord John; | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| ‘But no,’ said Rothiemay, | 6 | ······ |
| ‘My steed’s trapan’d, my bridle’s broken, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| I fear the day I’m fey.’ | 6 | ······ |
| When mass was sung and bells was rung, | 8 | ········ |
| And all men bound for bed, | 6 | ······ |
| Then good Lord John and Rothiemay | 8 | ········ |
| In one chamber was laid. | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| They had not long cast off their cloaths, | 8 | ········ |
| And were but now asleep, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| When the weary smoke began to rise, | 9 | ··/˘·˘/·· |
| Likewise the scorching heat. | 6 | /··/˘· |
| ‘O waken, waken, Rothiemay! | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| O waken, brother dear! | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| And turn you to our Saviour; | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| There is strong treason here.’ | 6 | ···/˘· |
| When they were dressèd in their cloaths, | 7 | ······· |
| And ready for to boun, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The doors and windows was all secur’d, | 9 | ···/˘··˘/ |
| The roof-tree burning down. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| He did him to the wire-window, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| As fast as he could gang; | 6 | ······ |
| Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons! | 10 | ·········· |
| For out we’ll never win. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| When he stood at the wire-window, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Most doleful to be seen, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| He did espy her Lady Frendraught, | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| Who stood upon the green. | 6 | ······ |
| Cried, ‘Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught! | 9 | ·/˘/˘/˘·· |
| Will ye not sink with sin? | 6 | ······ |
| For first your husband killed my father, | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| And now you burn his son.’ | 6 | ······ |
| O then out spoke her Lady Frendraught, | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| And loudly did she cry; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| ‘It were great pity for good Lord John, | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| But none for Rothiemay; | 6 | ······ |
| But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well, | 11 | ····/˘····· |
| Ye cannot get away.’ | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| While he stood in this dreadful plight, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Most piteous to be seen, | 7 | ·/˘˘··· |
| There callèd out his servant Gordon, | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| As he had frantic been: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| ‘O loup, O loup, my dear master! | 8 | ······/˘ |
| O loup and come to me! | 6 | ······ |
| I’ll catch you in my arms twa, | 7 | ······· |
| One foot I will not flee. | 6 | ······ |
| ‘O loup, O loup, my dear master! | 8 | ······/˘ |
| O loup and come away! | 6 | ····˘/ |
| I’ll catch you in my arms twa, | 7 | ······· |
| But Rothiemay may lie.’-- | 6 | ······ |
| ‘The fish shall never swim in the flood, | 8 | ···/···· |
| Nor corn grow through the clay, | 6 | ······ |
| Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindled | 10 | ··/˘/·/·/˘ |
| Twin me and Rothiemay. | 6 | ······ |
| ‘But I cannot loup, I cannot come, | 9 | ··/˘··/˘· |
| I cannot win to thee; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| My head’s fast in the wire-window, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| My feet burning from me. | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| ‘My eyes are seething in my head, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| My flesh roasting also, | 6 | ··/˘/˘ |
| My bowels are boiling with my blood; | 9 | ·/˘·/˘··· |
| Is not that a woeful woe? | 7 | ····/˘· |
| ‘Take here the rings from my white fingers, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| That are so long and small, | 6 | ······ |
| And give them to my lady fair, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Where she sits in her hall. | 6 | ······ |
| ‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come, | 9 | ··/˘··/˘· |
| I cannot loup to thee; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| My earthly part is all consumed, | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| My spirit but speaks to thee.’ | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| Wringing her hands, tearing her hair, | 8 | /˘··/˘·· |
| His lady she was seen, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And thus address’d his servant Gordon, | 9 | ··˘/·/˘/˘ |
| Where he stood on the green. | 6 | ······ |
| ‘O wae be to you, George Gordon! | 8 | ······/˘ |
| An ill death may you die! | 6 | ······ |
| So safe and sound as you stand there, | 8 | ········ |
| And my lord bereaved for me!’-- | 8 | ···˘/˘·· |
| ‘I bad him loup, I bad him come, | 8 | ········ |
| I bad him loup to me; | 6 | ······ |
| I’d catch him in my arms twa, | 7 | ······· |
| A foot I should not flee. | 6 | ······ |
| ‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers, | 10 | ········/˘ |
| Which were so long and small, | 6 | ······ |
| To give to you, his lady fair, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Where you sat in your hall.’ | 6 | ······ |
| Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay, | 8 | ˘/˘·˘/˘· |
| O bonny Sophia was her name, | 9 | ·/˘/˘˘··· |
| Her waiting maid put on her cloaths, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| But I wot she tore them off again! | 9 | ·······˘/ |
| And aft she cried, ‘Ohon! alas! | 8 | ······˘/ |
| A sair heart’s ill to win; | 6 | ······ |
| I wan a sair heart when I married him, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And to-day it’s return’d again.’ | 8 | ····˘/˘/ |
| Sophia Hay = wife of Lord John [Gordon], burned in this fire. | 14 | ˘/˘·····/˘···/ |
| She had jilted the young lord of Tolquhon to marry him, which explains | 18 | ··/˘········/˘··˘/ |
| the allusion in the last stanza. | 9 | ·˘/˘···/˘ |
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