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I I WAS a lady of high renown | |
| As ever lived in the north countrie; | |
| I was a lady of high renown | |
| When the Earl Douglas luvèd me. | |
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II And when we came through Glasgow toun, | 5 |
| We were a comely sight to see; | |
| My gude lord in the black velvèt, | |
| And I mysel in cramasie. | |
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III But when we came to Douglas toun, | |
| We were a fine sight to behold: | 10 |
| My gude lord in the cramasie | |
| And I mysel in the shining gold. | |
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IV And when that my auld son was born | |
| And set upon his nurses knee, | |
| I was happy a woman as eer was born, | 15 |
| And my gude lord he luvèd me. | |
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V But O an my young son was born | |
| And set upon his nurses knee | |
| And I mysel were dead and gane, | |
| For a maid again Ill never be! | 20 |
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VI There cam a man into this house, | |
| And Jamie Lockhart was his name, | |
| And it was told to my gude lord | |
| That I was owre in love wi him. | |
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VII O wae be unto thee, Blackwòod, | 25 |
| And ae an ill death may ye dee! | |
| For ye was the first and foremost man | |
| That parted my gude lord and me. | |
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VIII I sent a word to my gude lord, | |
| Come down, and sit, and dine wi me, | 30 |
| And Ill set thee on a chair of gowd, | |
| And a siller towel on thy knee. | |
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IX When cockle-shells turn silver bells, | |
| And mussell grow on every tree, | |
| When frost and snow turns fire to burn, | 35 |
| Then Ill sit down and dine wi thee. | |
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X When that my father he had word | |
| That my gude lord had forsaken me, | |
| He sent a fifty brisk dragoons | |
| To fetch me home to my ain countrie. | 40 |
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XI Fare thee well, my Jamie Douglas! | |
| Fare thee well, ever dear to me! | |
| But O, an my young babe were born | |
| And set upon some nourice knee! | |
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XII And fare thee well, my pretty palace! | 45 |
| And fare ye well, my children three! | |
| God grant your father grace to be kind, | |
| More kind to you than he was to me! | |
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XIII Then slowly, slowly rase I up, | |
| But quickly, quickly he cam doun, | 50 |
| And when he saw me sit in my coach, | |
| He made his drums and trumpets sound. | |
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XIV When we cam in by Edinbro town, | |
| My father and mother they met me | |
| Wi trumpets soundin on every side; | 55 |
| But it was nae music at a to me. | |
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XV Now haud your comfort my father dear, | |
| And mother your weeping let abee! | |
| Ill never lye in another mans arms | |
| Since my dear lord has forsaken me. | 60 |
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XVI Its very true, and its aft-times said, | |
| The hawk will flie far far frae her nest: | |
| And a the warld may plainly see | |
| They are far frae me that I luve best. | |
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Lament of Barbara, Marchioness of Douglas
XVII O waly, waly, up the bank, | 65 |
| And waly, waly, doun the brae, | |
| And waly, waly, yon burn-side, | |
| Where I and my Love wont to gae! | |
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XVIII I leand my back unto an aik, | |
| I thocht it was a trustie tree; | 70 |
| But first it bowd and syne it brak | |
| Sae my true love did lichtlie me. | |
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XIX O waly, waly, gin love be bonnie | |
| A little time while it is new! | |
| But when tis auld it waxeth cauld, | 75 |
| And fades awa like morning dew. | |
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XX O wherefore should I busk my heid, | |
| Or wherefore should I kame my hair? | |
| For my true Love has me forsook, | |
| And says hell never loe me mair. | 80 |
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XXI Now Arthurs Seat sall be my bed, | |
| The sheets sall neer be filed by me; | |
| Saint Antons well sall be my drink; | |
| Since my true Love has forsaken me. | |
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XXII Martimas wind, when wilt thou blaw, | 85 |
| And shake the green leaves aff the tree? | |
| O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? | |
| For of my life I am wearìe. | |
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XXIII Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, | |
| Nor blawing snaws inclemencie, | 90 |
| Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry; | |
| But my Loves heart grown cauld to me. | |
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XXIV When we cam in by Glasgow toun, | |
| We were a comely sicht to see; | |
| My Love was clad in the black velvèt, | 95 |
| And I mysel in cramasie. | |
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XXV But had I wist, before I kist, | |
| That love had been sae ill to win, | |
| I had lockd my heart in a case o gowd, | |
| And pinnd it wi a siller pin. | 100 |
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XXVI And O! if my young babe were born, | |
| And set upon the nurses knee; | |
| And I mysel were dead and gane, | |
| And the green grass growing over me! | |
| | | GLOSS: cramasie] crimson. auld] eldest. lichtlie] slight, treat with disrespect. |
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