Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 63

'Then I'll take the sword frae my scabbard And slowly lift the pin; And you may swear, and save your aith, Ye ne'er let Clerk Saunders in.

'Take you a napkin in your hand, And tie up baith your bonnie e'en, And you may swear, and save your aith, Ye saw me na since late yestreen.'

It was about the midnight hour, When they asleep were laid, When in and came her seven brothers, Wi' torches burning red:

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!'

Then out and spake the first o' them, 'I bear the sword shall gar him die.'

And out and spake the second o' them, 'His father has nae mair but he.'

And out and spake the third o' them, 'I wot that they are lovers dear.'

And out and spake the fourth o' them, 'They hae been in love this mony a year.'

Then out and spake the fifth o' them, 'It were great sin true love to twain.'

And out and spake the sixth o' them, 'It were shame to slay a sleeping man.'

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.

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.

And they lay still and sleepit sound Until the day began to daw'; And kindly she to him did say, 'It is time, true love, you were awa'.'

But he lay still, and sleepit sound, Albeit the sun began to sheen; She look'd atween her and the wa', And dull and drowsie were his e'en.

Then in and came her father dear; Said, 'Let a' your mourning be; I'll carry the dead corse to the clay, And I'll come back and comfort thee.'

'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.'

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.

'Are ye sleeping, Marg'ret?' he says, 'Or are ye waking presentlie?

Give me my faith and troth again, I wot, true love, I gied to thee.'

'Your faith and troth ye sall never get, Nor our true love sall never twin, Until ye come within my bower, And kiss me cheik and chin.'

'My mouth it is full cold, Marg'ret; It has the smell, now, of the ground; And if I kiss thy comely mouth, Thy days of life will not be lang.

'O c.o.c.ks 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.'

'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?'

'Their beds are made in the heavens high, Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee, Weel set about wi' gillyflowers; I wot, sweet company for to see.

'O c.o.c.ks are crowing a merry midnight; I wot the wild fowls are boding day; The psalms of heaven will soon be sung, And I, ere now, will be miss'd away.'

Then she has taken a crystal wand, And she has stroken her troth thereon; She has given it him out at the shot-window, Wi' mony a sad sigh and heavy groan.

'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.'

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.

'Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?

Is there ony room at your feet?

Or ony room at your side, Saunders, Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?'

'There 's nae room at my head, Marg'ret, There 's nae room at my feet; My bed it is fu' lowly now, Amang the hungry worms I sleep.

'Cauld mould is my covering now, But and my winding-sheet; The dew it falls nae sooner down Than my resting-place is weet.

'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.'

Then up and crew the red, red c.o.c.k, And up and crew the gray: ''Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Marg'ret, That you were going away.

'And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret, And Marg'ret o' veritie, Gin e'er ye love another man, Ne'er love him as ye did me.'

striped] thrust. twin] part in two.

Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent.

372. Fair Annie

THE reivers they stole Fair Annie, As she walk'd by the sea; But a n.o.ble knight was her ransom soon, Wi' gowd and white monie.

She bided in strangers' land wi' him, And none knew whence she cam; She lived in the castle wi' her love, But never told her name.

'It 's narrow, narrow, mak your bed, And learn to lie your lane; For I'm gaun owre the sea, Fair Annie, A braw Bride to bring hame.

Wi' her I will get gowd and gear, Wi' you I ne'er gat nane.

'But wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale?

And wha will welcome my bright Bride, That I bring owre the dale?'

It 's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale; And I will welcome your bright Bride, That you bring owre the dale.'

'But she that welcomes my bright Bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And comely braid her hair.

'Bind up, bind up your yellow hair, And tie it on your neck; And see you look as maiden-like As the day that first we met.'

'O how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane?

Have I not borne six sons to thee, And am wi' child again?'

'I'll put cooks into my kitchen, And stewards in my hall, And I'll have bakers for my bread, And brewers for my ale; But you're to welcome my bright Bride, That I bring owre the dale.'

Three months and a day were gane and past, Fair Annie she gat word That her love's s.h.i.+p was come at last, Wi' his bright young Bride aboard.

She 's ta'en her young son in her arms, Anither in her hand; And she 's gane up to the highest tower, Looks over sea and land.

'Come doun, come doun, my mother dear, Come aff the castle wa'!

I fear if langer ye stand there, Ye'll let yoursell doun fa'.'