He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,

And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.

"Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed,
"Now stay, my dear," he cry'd;
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirkwa,
Fair Annet within the quiere,

And o the tane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.

And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil
They were twa luvers deare.

LOVE GREGOR

"O WHA will shoe my fu fair foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp,'
Wi the new made London band?

2

"And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
Wi the new made silver kaim?
And wha will father my young son,
Till Love Gregor come hame?"

"Your father will shoe your fu fair foot,
Your mother will glove your hand;
Your sister will lace your middle jimp
Wi the new made London band.

(C) HC-Vol. 40

1 Slim.

a Comb.

"Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,

Wi the new made silver kaim

And the king of heaven will father your bairn, Till Love Gregor come haim."

"But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea,

For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
Since he canno come hame to me."

O she has gotten a bonny boat,
And sailld the sa't sea fame;"
She langd to see her ain true-love,
Since he could no come hame.

"O row your boat, my mariners,
And bring me to the land,
For yonder I see my love's castle,
Closs by the sa't sea strand."

She has taen her young son in her arms,
And to the door she 's gone,

And lang she's knocked and sair she ca'd,
But answer got she none.

66 open the door, Love Gregor," she says,
"O open, and let me in;

For the win blaws thro my yellow hair,

And the rain draps oer my chin."

Awa, awa, ye ill woman,

You'r nae come here for good;

You'r but some witch, or wile warlock,"

Or mer-maid of the flood."

"I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,

Nor mer-maid of the sea,

I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;

O open the door to me."

"Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal-
And I trust ye are not she-
Now tell me some of the love-tokens
That past between you and me."

"O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor, When we sat at the wine,

How we changed the rings frae our fingers? And I can show thee thine.

66

"O yours was good, and good enneugh,

But ay the best was mine;

For yours was o the good red goud,
But mine o the dimonds fine.

"But open the door now, Love Gregor,
O open the door I pray,

For your young son that is in my arms
Will be dead ere it be day."

When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,

And the sun began to peep,

Then it raise him Love Gregor,

And sair, sair did he weep.

"O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,

The thoughts o it gars' me greet,R

That Fair Annie of Rough Royal

Lay cauld dead at my feet.”

8

"Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal That ye make a' this din,

She stood a' last night at this door,

But I trow she wan'

no in."

Shall not get.

Makes.

• Weep.

• Got.

"O wae betide ye, ill woman,

10

An ill dead 20 may ye die!

That ye woudno open

the door to her,

Nor yet woud waken me."

O he has gone down to yon shore-side, As fast as he could fare;

He saw Fair Annie in her boat,

But the wind it tossed her sair.

And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie!
O Annie, winna ye bide?"

But ay the mair that he cried Annie,
The braider grew the tide.

And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie!
Dear Annie, speak to me!"

But ay the louder he cried Annie,
The louder roard the sea.

The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dashd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
But her young son raise no more.

Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
But his bonny young son was gone.

O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair,
But clay cold were her rosy lips,
Nae spark of life was there.

'And first he's kissd her cherry cheek,
And neist he's kissed her chin;
And saftly pressed her rosey lips,
But there was nae breath within.

10 Death.

66

"O wae betide my cruel mother,

And an ill dead may she die!

For she turnd my true-love frae my door,
When she came sae far to me."

20

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN

Ir was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the green leaves were a falling,
That Sir John Græme, in the West Country,
Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down through the town,
To the place where she was dwelling:
"O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly,' hooly rose she up,

To the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by,
"Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:"
"O the better for me ye's never be,
Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

dinna ye mind, young man," said she,

When ye was in the tavern a drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?"

He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing:
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan."

1 Softly.