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I
‘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.’— | |
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II
‘O how can I your true-love ken, | 5 |
| Or how can I her know? | |
| Whan frae her mouth I never heard couth, | |
| Nor wi’ my eyes her saw.’— | |
| |
III
‘O well sall ye my true-love ken, | |
| As soon as you her see; | 10 |
| For, of a’ the flow’rs in fair England, | |
| The fairest flow’r is she. | |
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IV
‘At even at my love’s bower-door | |
| There grows a bowing birk, | |
| An’ sit ye down and sing thereon, | 15 |
| As she gangs to the kirk. | |
| |
V
‘An’ four-and-twenty ladies fair | |
| Will wash and go to kirk, | |
| But well shall ye my true-love ken, | |
| For she wears gowd on her skirt. | 20 |
| |
VI
‘An’ four-and-twenty gay ladies | |
| Will to the mass repair, | |
| But well sall ye my true-love ken, | |
| For she wears gowd on her hair.’ | |
| |
VII
O even at that lady’s bower-door | 25 |
| There grows a bowing birk, | |
| An, he set down and sang thereon, | |
| As she gaed to the kirk. | |
| |
VIII
‘O eet and drink, my marys a’, | |
| The wine flows you among, | 30 |
| Till I gang to my shot-window, | |
| An’ hear yon bonny bird’s song. | |
| |
IX
‘Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird, | |
| The song ye sang the streen, | |
| For I ken by your sweet singin’ | 35 |
| You’re frae my true-love sen.’ | |
| |
X
O first he sang a merry song, | |
| An’ then he sang a grave, | |
| An’ then he peck’d his feathers gray, | |
| To her the letter gave. | 40 |
| |
XI
‘Ha, there’s a letter frae your love, | |
| He says he sent you three; | |
| He canna wait your luve langer, | |
| But for your sake he’ll dee. | |
| |
XII
‘He bids you write a letter to him; | 45 |
| He says he’s sent you five; | |
| He canna wait your luve langer, | |
| Tho’ you’re the fairest alive.’— | |
| |
XIII
‘Ye bid him bake his bridal-bread, | |
| And brew his bridal-ale, | 50 |
| An’ I’ll meet him in fair Scotland | |
| Lang, lang or it be stale.’ | |
| |
XIV
She’s doen 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!’— | |
| |
XV
‘Ask on, ask on, my daughter, | |
| An’ granted it sall be; | |
| Except ae squire in fair Scotland, | |
| An’ him you sall never see.’— | 60 |
| |
XVI
‘The only boon, my father dear, | |
| That I do crave of thee, | |
| Is, gin I die in southin lands, | |
| In Scotland to bury me. | |
| |
XVII
‘An’ the firstin kirk that ye come till, | 65 |
| Ye gar the bells be rung, | |
| An’ the nextin kirk that ye come till, | |
| Ye gar the mass be sung. | |
| |
XVIII
‘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.’ | |
| |
XIX
She is doen her to her bigly bow’r, | |
| As fast as she could fare, | |
| An’she has tane a sleepy draught, | 75 |
| That she had mixt wi’ care. | |
| |
XX
She’s laid her down upon her bed, | |
| An’ soon she’s fa’n asleep, | |
| And soon o’er every tender limb | |
| Cauld death began to creep. | 80 |
| |
XXI
Whan night was flown, an’ day was come, | |
| Nae ane that did her see | |
| But thought she was as surely dead | |
| As ony lady cou’d be. | |
| |
XXII
Her father an’ her brothers dear | 85 |
| Gar’d make to her a bier; | |
| The tae half was o’ guid red gold, | |
| The tither o’ silver clear. | |
| |
XXIII
Her mither an’ her sisters fair | |
| Gar’d work for her a sark; | 90 |
| The tae half was o’ cambrick fine, | |
| The tither o’ needle wark. | |
| |
XXIV
The firstin kirk that they came till, | |
| They gar’d the bells be rung, | |
| An’ the nextin kirk that they came till, | 95 |
| They gar’d the mess be sung. | |
| |
XXV
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 |
| |
XXVI
‘Lay down, lay down the bigly bier, | |
| Lat me the dead look on!’— | |
| Wi’ cherry cheeks and ruby lips | |
| She lay and smil’d on him. | |
| |
XXVII
‘O ae sheave o’ your bread, true-love, | 105 |
| An’ ae glass o’ your wine! | |
| For I hae fasted for your sake | |
| These fully days is nine. | |
| |
XXVIII
‘Gang hame, gang hame, my seven bold brothers, | |
| Gang hame and sound your horn; | 110 |
| An’ ye may boast in southin lands | |
| Your sister’s play’d you scorn!’ | |
| | | GLOSS: couth] word. marys] maidens. shot-window] here=bow-window. the streen] yestreen. bigly] commodious. make] mate, lover. sheave] slice. |
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