PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS. 193 



must remember the Rev. J. F. Bigge's most interesting dis- 

 course on the folk lore connected with Nafferton Castle. 

 Associated with the grey walls of the presuming Philip, is a 

 Border ballad, now equally broken and ragged, and also, a 

 popular tradition. Through the treachery ( it is said ) of a 

 serving maid, named " Orange" in the ballad, " Long Lonkin," 

 a noted freebooter, gained admission, and murdered " the lady 

 of the hall," whom he dragged into the dene, and threw into a 

 deep pool in the burn — which may be seen to this day, in con- 

 firmation of the story, under the name of " Long Lonkin's 

 Hole." So much of the ballad as she could recollect was taken 

 down from the lips of an old woman at Ovington, many years 

 ago, and committed to print in Richardson's " Table Book" 

 (Legendary Division, vol. iii.): — 



The lord said to his ladie, as he mounted his horse, 

 Beware of Long Lonkin, that lies in the moss; 

 The lord said to his ladie, as he rode away. 

 Beware of Long Lonkin, that hes in the clay. 



What care I for Lonkin, or any of his gang ? 

 My doors are all shut, and my windows penn'd in. 

 There were six little windows, and they were all shut ; 

 But one little window, and that was forgot. 



******** 



And at that little window Long Lonkin crept in. 



Where's the lord of the hall ? says the Lonkin : 

 He's gone up to London, says Orange to him. 

 Where's the men of the hall ? says the Lonkin: 

 They're at the field ploughing, says Orange to him. 



Where's the ladies of the hall? says the Lonkin: 

 They're up in their chambers, says Orange to him. 

 How shall we get them down? says the Lonkin: 

 Prick the babe in the cradle, says Orange to him. 



Eock well my cradle, and " bee ba" my son : 



You shall have a new gown when the lord he comes home. 



Still she did prick it, and "bee ba" she cried; 



Come down, dearest mistress, and still your own child. 



Oh! still my child, Orange; still him with a bell, 



I can't still him, ladie, till you come yoursel'. 



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