| |
| “O WELL’S me o my gay goss-hawk, | |
| That he can speak and flee; | |
| He’ll carry a letter to my love, | |
| Bring back another to me.” | |
| |
| “O how can I your true-love ken, 1 | 5 |
| Or how can I her know? | |
| Whan frae her mouth I never heard couth, 2 | |
| Nor wi my eyes her saw.” | |
| |
| “O well sal ye my true-love ken, | |
| As soon as you her see; | 10 |
| For, of a’ the flowrs in fair Englan, | |
| The fairest flowr is she. | |
| |
| “At even at my love’s bowr-door | |
| There grows a bowing birk, 3 | |
| An sit ye down and sing thereon, | 15 |
| As she gangs to the kirk. | |
| |
| “An four-and-twenty ladies fair | |
| Will wash and go to kirk, | |
| But well shall ye my true-love ken, | |
| For she wears goud on her skirt. | 20 |
| |
| “An four and twenty gay ladies | |
| Will to the mass repair, | |
| But well sal ye my true-love ken, | |
| For she wears goud on her hair.” | |
| |
| O even at that lady’s bowr-door | 25 |
| There grows a bowin birk, | |
| An he set down and sang thereon, | |
| As she ged to the kirk. | |
| |
| “O eet and drink, my marys 4 a’, | |
| The wine flows you among, | 30 |
| Till I gang to my shot-window, | |
| An hear yon bonny bird’s song. | |
| |
| “Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird, | |
| The song ye sang the streen, 5 | |
| For I ken by your sweet singin | 35 |
| You’re frae my true-love sen.” 6 | |
| |
| O first he sang a merry song, | |
| An then he sang a grave, | |
| An then he peckd his feathers gray, | |
| To her the letter gave. | 40 |
| |
| Ha, there’s a letter frae your love, | |
| He says he sent you three; | |
| He canno wait your love langer, | |
| But for your sake he’ll die. | |
| |
| “He bids you write a letter to him; | 45 |
| He says he’s sent you five; | |
| He canno wait your love langer, | |
| Tho you’re the fairest woman alive.” | |
| |
| “Ye bid him bake his bridal-bread, | |
| And brew his bridal-ale, | 50 |
| An I’ll meet him in fair Scotlan | |
| Lang, lang or it be stale.” | |
| |
| She’s doen 7 her to her father dear, | |
| Fa’n low down on her knee: | |
| “A boon, a boon, my father dear, | 55 |
| I pray you, grant it me.” | |
| |
| “Ask on, ask on, my daughter, | |
| An granted it sal be; | |
| Except ae squire in fair Scotlan, | |
| An him you sall never see.” | 60 |
| |
| “The only boon, my father dear, | |
| That I do crave of thee, | |
| Is, gin 8 I die in southin 9 lands, | |
| In Scotlan to bury me. | |
| |
| “An the firstin 10 kirk that ye come till, | 65 |
| Ye gar the bells be rung, | |
| An the nextin kirk that ye come till, | |
| Ye gar the mess be sung. | |
| |
| “An the thirdin kirk that ye come till, | |
| You deal gold for my sake, | 70 |
| An the fourthin kirk that ye come till, | |
| You tarry there till night.” | |
| |
| She is doen her to her bigly bowr, 11 | |
| As fast as she coud fare, | |
| An she has tane a sleepy draught, | 75 |
| That she had mixed wi care. | |
| |
| She’s laid her down upon her bed, | |
| An soon she’s fa’n asleep, | |
| And soon oer every tender limb | |
| Cauld death began to creep. | 80 |
| |
| Whan night was flown, an day was come, | |
| Nae ane that did her see | |
| But thought she was as surely dead | |
| As ony lady coud be. | |
| |
| Her father an her brothers dear | 85 |
| Gard 12 make to her a bier; | |
| The tae 13 half was o guid red gold, | |
| The tither 14 o silver clear. | |
| |
| Her mither an her sisters fair | |
| Gard work for her a sark; | 90 |
| The tae half was o cambrick fine, | |
| The tither o needle wark. | |
| |
| The firstin kirk that they came till, | |
| They gard the bells be rung, | |
| An the nextin kirk that they came till, | 95 |
| They gard the mess be sung. | |
| |
| The thirdin kirk that they came till, | |
| They dealt gold for her sake, | |
| An the fourthin kirk that they came till, | |
| Lo, there they met her make! | 100 |
| |
| “Lay down, lay down the bigly bier. | |
| Lat me the dead look on;” | |
| Wi cheery cheeks and ruby lips | |
| She lay an smil’d on him. | |
| |
| “O ae sheave 15 o your bread, true-love, | 105 |
| An ae glass o your wine, | |
| For I hae fasted for your sake | |
| These fully days is nine. | |
| |
| “Gang hame, gang hame, my seven bold brothers, | |
| Gang hame and sound your horn; | 110 |
| An ye may boast in southin lans | |
| Your sister’s playd you scorn.” | |
