Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
CLERK SAUNDERS and may Margaret | |
Walk’d owre yon garden green; | |
And deep and heavy was the love | |
That fell thir twa between. | |
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‘A bed, a bed,’ Clerk Saunders said, | 5 |
‘A bed for you and me!’ | |
‘Fye na, fye na,’ said may Margaret, | |
‘Till anes we married be!’ | |
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‘Then I’ll take the sword frae my scabbard | |
And slowly lift the pin; | 10 |
And you may swear, and save your aith, | |
Ye ne’er let Clerk Saunders in. | |
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‘Take you a napkin in your hand, | |
And tie up baith your bonnie e’en, | |
And you may swear, and save your aith, | 15 |
Ye saw me na since late yestreen.’ | |
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It was about the midnight hour, | |
When they asleep were laid, | |
When in and came her seven brothers, | |
Wi’ torches burning red: | 20 |
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When in and came her seven brothers, | |
Wi’ torches burning bright: | |
They said, ‘We hae but one sister, | |
And behold her lying with a knight!’ | |
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Then out and spake the first o’ them, | 25 |
‘I bear the sword shall gar him die.’ | |
And out and spake the second o’ them, | |
‘His father has nae mair but he.’ | |
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And out and spake the third o’ them, | |
‘I wot that they are lovers dear.’ | 30 |
And out and spake the fourth o’ them, | |
‘They hae been in love this mony a year.’ | |
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Then out and spake the fifth o’ them, | |
‘It were great sin true love to twain.’ | |
And out and spake the sixth o’ them, | 35 |
‘It were shame to slay a sleeping man.’ | |
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Then up and gat the seventh o’ them, | |
And never a word spake he; | |
But he has striped his bright brown brand | |
Out through Clerk Saunders’ fair bodye. | 40 |
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Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn’d | |
Into his arms as asleep she lay; | |
And sad and silent was the night | |
That was atween thir twae. | |
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And they lay still and sleepit sound | 45 |
Until the day began to daw’; | |
And kindly she to him did say, | |
‘It is time, true love, you were awa’.’ | |
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But he lay still, and sleepit sound, | |
Albeit the sun began to sheen; | 50 |
She look’d atween her and the wa’, | |
And dull and drowsie were his e’en. | |
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Then in and came her father dear; | |
Said, ‘Let a’ your mourning be; | |
I’ll carry the dead corse to the clay, | 55 |
And I’ll come back and comfort thee.’ | |
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‘Comfort weel your seven sons, | |
For comforted I will never be: | |
I ween ’twas neither knave nor loon | |
Was in the bower last night wi’ me.’ | 60 |
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The clinking bell gaed through the town, | |
To carry the dead corse to the clay; | |
And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret’s window, | |
I wot, an hour before the day. | |
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‘Are ye sleeping, Marg’ret?’ he says, | 65 |
‘Or are ye waking presentlie? | |
Give me my faith and troth again, | |
I wot, true love, I gied to thee.’ | |
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‘Your faith and troth ye sall never get, | |
Nor our true love sall never twin, | 70 |
Until ye come within my bower, | |
And kiss me cheik and chin.’ | |
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‘My mouth it is full cold, Marg’ret; | |
It has the smell, now, of the ground; | |
And if I kiss thy comely mouth, | 75 |
Thy days of life will not be lang. | |
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‘O cocks are crowing a merry midnight; | |
I wot the wild fowls are boding day; | |
Give me my faith and troth again, | |
And let me fare me on my way.’ | 80 |
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‘Thy faith and troth thou sallna get, | |
And our true love sall never twin, | |
Until ye tell what comes o’ women, | |
I wot, who die in strong traivelling?’ | |
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‘Their beds are made in the heavens high, | 85 |
Down at the foot of our good Lord’s knee, | |
Weel set about wi’ gillyflowers; | |
I wot, sweet company for to see. | |
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‘O cocks are crowing a merry midnight; | |
I wot the wild fowls are boding day; | 90 |
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung, | |
And I, ere now, will be miss’d away.’ | |
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Then she has taken a crystal wand, | |
And she has stroken her troth thereon; | |
She has given it him out at the shot-window, | 95 |
Wi’ mony a sad sigh and heavy groan. | |
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‘I thank ye, Marg’ret; I thank ye, Marg’ret; | |
And ay I thank ye heartilie; | |
Gin ever the dead come for the quick, | |
Be sure, Marg’ret, I’ll come for thee.’ | 100 |
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It ‘s hosen and shoon, and gown alone, | |
She climb’d the wall, and follow’d him, | |
Until she came to the green forest, | |
And there she lost the sight o’ him. | |
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‘Is there ony room at your head, Saunders? | 105 |
Is there ony room at your feet? | |
Or ony room at your side, Saunders, | |
Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?’ | |
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‘There ‘s nae room at my head, Marg’ret, | |
There ‘s nae room at my feet; | 110 |
My bed it is fu’ lowly now, | |
Amang the hungry worms I sleep. | |
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‘Cauld mould is my covering now, | |
But and my winding-sheet; | |
The dew it falls nae sooner down | 115 |
Than my resting-place is weet. | |
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‘But plait a wand o’ bonny birk, | |
And lay it on my breast; | |
And shed a tear upon my grave, | |
And wish my saul gude rest.’ | 120 |
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Then up and crew the red, red cock, | |
And up and crew the gray: | |
”Tis time, ’tis time, my dear Marg’ret, | |
That you were going away. | |
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‘And fair Marg’ret, and rare Marg’ret, | 125 |
And Marg’ret o’ veritie, | |
Gin e’er ye love another man, | |
Ne’er love him as ye did me.’ | |