The eighteenth of October,
A dismal tale to hear,
How good Lord John an' Rothiemay
Were burned in the fire.

The horses were from the stable brocht,
An' a' were bound to ride,
When oot cam Lady Frendracht gay,
Cries, "Abide, Lord John, abide.

"Ye'll stay an' sup wi us the-nicht,
An' tomorrow we shall dine
Twill be a token o richt goodwill
Atween your hoose an' mine."

"We'll turn again," said good Lord John
"But no," said Rothiemay
"My steed's trapann'd, my bridle's broke,
I fear the day I'm fey."

When bells were rung, an' mass was sung,
An' a' man bound to bed,
Good Lord John an' Rothiemay
In one chamber were laid.

They hadna been lang to their beds,
An' scarcely faen asleep,
When smoke an' flames aboot them cam,
Which made them for to weep.

"Oh, waken, waken Rothiemay,
Oh, waken, brother dear,
And turn you to our Saviour,
There is strong treason here."

When they were dressed in a' their clothes,
And ready for to boun,
The doors an' windows were a' secur'd,
The roof-tree burnin' doon.

When he stood at the wire-window,
Maist doleful to be seen,
He did espy her, Lady Frendracht,
A-walkin on the green.

"Open the door, Lady Frendracht,
An' let us oot," cried he,
"For the door is lock't, the window barred,
An' deid men soon we'll be."

"Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendracht,
Will you not sink with sin?
For first your husband kill's my father,
And now you'll burn his son."

Oh, then out spoke her, Lady Frendracht,
And loudly did she cry
"'t were a great pity for good Lord John,
But none for Rothiemay.

"The door is lock't an' the window barred,
An' together you baith maun dee,
The keys are casten in the deep draw-well,
You cannot get away."

While he stood in this dreadful plight,
Maist piteous to be seen,
There called out his servant Gordon,
As he had frantic been

"Come doon, come doon, my master dear,
Come o'er the wa' to me,
An' I'll kep you in my airms twa,
One fit I winna flee."

I cannot loup, I cannot come,
I cannot win to thee;
My head's fast un the wire-windiw,
My feet burning from me.

He drew the ring fae his finger,
Which was baith lang an' sma,
"An' give it to my lady gay,
Where she sits in her ha'

"An' tell her now to mak her bed
Aye langer to the breid,
For the day will never dawn again
That I'll lie by her side.

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 ladye she was seen,
An' addressed his servant Gordon,
Where he stood on the green:

Woe be to you, George Gordon,
An ill death may ye dee,
So safe an' sound as you stand there
And my lord bereaved from me."

"I Bade him loup, I bade him come,
I bade him loup to me,
I'd kep him in my airms twa
A fit I shouldna flee.

He threw me the rings fae his white fingers,
That were so lang an' sma
To gie to you his ladye fair,
Where you sat in your ha'

Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay
Oh, bonnie Sophia was her name
Her waiting maids put on her clothes
But she tore them off again

An' aft she cried, "Ohon! alas!
A sair heart's easy won
I wan a sair heart when I married him
An' it's well returned again."

"O gin I were a little bird,
Wi feathered wings an' grey,
I'd fly aboot Lady Frendracht's gates
Cryin vengence till I dee."

The text of the ballad of the Fire of Frendraught exists in a number of versions, and no two appear to be the same. My version is based on two interpretations - the somewhat anglicised version in "The Kingdom of Forgue" which was published in Aberdeen in 1903 and the fragmentory version ascribed to Mrs Coutts of Ellon in the Greig-Duncan Folk Song Collection.

&Copy; James Dempster 1997