The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 3/Chapter 62

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,, , , chiefly from the recitation of an old woman residing near Kirkhill, in West Lothian.

'S narrow, narrow, make your bed, And learn to lie your lane; For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie, A braw bride to bring hame. Wi her I will get gowd and gear; Wi you I neer got nane. 'But wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale? And wha will welcome my brisk bride, That I bring oer the dale?' 'It's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, And I will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring oer the dale.' 'But she that welcomes my brisk bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And braid her yellow hair.' 'But how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane? Have I not born seven sons to thee, And am with child again?' She's taen her young son in her arms, Another in her hand, And she's up to the highest tower, To see him come to land. 'Come up, come up, my eldest son, And look oer yon sea-strand, And see your father's new-come bride, Before she come to land.' 'Come down, come down, my mother dear, Come frae the castle wa! I fear, if langer ye stand there, Ye'll let yoursell down fa.' And she gaed down, and farther down, Her love's ship for to see, And the topmast and the mainmast Shone like the silver free. And she's gane down, and farther down, The bride's ship to behold, And the topmast and the mainmast They shone just like the gold. She's taen her seven sons in her hand, I wot she didna fail; She met Lord Thomas and his bride, As they came oer the dale. 'You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas, You're welcome to your land; You're welcome with your fair ladye, That you lead by the hand. 'You're welcome to your ha's, ladye, Your welcome to your bowers; You're welcome to your hame, ladye, For a' that's here is yours.' 'I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie, Sae dearly as I thank thee; You're the likest to my sister Annie, That ever I did see. 'There came a knight out oer the sea, And steald my sister away; The shame scoup in his company, And land whereer he gae!' She hang ae napkin at the door, Another in the ha, And a' to wipe the trickling tears, Sae fast as they did fa. And aye she served the lang tables, With white bread and with wine, And aye she drank the wan water, To had her colour fine. And aye she served the lang tables, With white bread and with brown; And ay she turned her round about, Sae fast the tears fell down. And he's taen down the silk napkin, Hung on a silver pin, And aye he wipes the tear trickling A' down her cheek and chin. And aye he turn'd him round about, And smiled amang his men; Says, Like ye best the old ladye, Or her that's new come hame? When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men bound to bed, Lord Thomas and his new-come bride To their chamber they were gaed. Annie made her bed a little forbye, To hear what they might say; 'And ever alas!' Fair Annie cried, 'That I should see this day! 'Gin my seven sons were seven young rats, Running on the castle wa, And I were a grew cat mysell, I soon would worry them a'. 'Gin my seven sons were seven young hares, Running oer yon lilly lee, And I were a grew hound mysell, Soon worried they a' should be.' And wae and sad Fair Annie sat, And drearie was her sang, And ever, as she sobbd and grat, 'Wae to the man that did the wrang!' 'My gown is on,' said the new-come bride, 'My shoes are on my feet, And I will to Fair Annie's chamber, And see what gars her greet. 'What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie, That ye make sic a moan? Has your wine barrels cast the girds, Or is your white bread gone? 'O wha was't was your father, Annie, Or wha was't was your mother? And had ye ony sister, Annie, Or had ye ony brother?' 'The Earl of Wemyss was my father, The Countess of Wemyss my mother; And a' the folk about the house To me were sister and brother.' 'If the Earl of Wemyss was your father, I wot sae was he mine; And it shall not be for lack o gowd That ye your love sall tyne. 'For I have seven ships o mine ain, A' loaded to the brim, And I will gie them a' to thee, Wi four to thine eldest son: But thanks to a' the powers in heaven That I gae maiden hame!'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads,, , from the recitation of Mrs Arrot, of Aberbrothick.

livd a lord on yon sea-side, And he thought on a wile, How he would go over the saut sea A lady to beguile. 'O learn to mak your bed, Helen, And learn to ly your lane, For I'm gaun over the saut seas A bright bride to bring hame.' 'How can I mak my bed,' she says, 'Unless I mak it wide, Whan I have seven o your sons To lie down by my side? 'And the first o your seven sons, He rides a milk-white steed; The second o your seven sons He wears a milk-white weed. 'The third ane o your seven sons, He draws baith ale and wine; The fourth ane o your seven sons, He serves you when you dine. 'The fifth ane o your seven sons, He can baith read and write; And the sixth ane o your seven sons, He is a' your heart's delight. 'And the youngest o your seven sons, He sleeps on my breast-bane; Whan him and I ly down at night, For him rest get I nane.' 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, And brew my bridal ale? And wha will welcome my gae lady, That I bring oer the dale? 'And sin ye've taen the turn in hand, See that ye do it right, And ilka chimly o the house, That they be dearly dight.' O a' the day she washd and wrang, And a' the night she buik, And she's awa to her chamber, To gie her young son suck. 'Come here, come here, my eldest son, And see what ye may see; For yonder comes your father dear, Your mother-in-law side be.' She's taen a cake o the best bread, A bottle o the best wine, And a' the keys upon her arm, And to the yates she's gaen. 'Ye are welcome hame, gay lady,' she said, 'And ay ye are welcome hame; And sae is a' the gentlewomen That's wi you ridden and gane. 'You are welcome hame, gay lord' she said, 'And ay ye are welcome hame; And sae is a' the gentlemen That's wi you ridden and gane.' She saird them up, she saird them down, She saird them till and frae; But when she went behind their backs, The tear did blind her ee. Whan day was gane, and night was come, And a' man boun to bed, The bridegroom and the bonny bride In their chamber was laid. Burd Helen and her seven sons Lay in a bower near by; . . . . . . . . . . 'If my seven sons were seven grey ratts, To rin frae wa to wa, And I mysel a good grey cat, I would bite their back a-twa. 'If my seven sons were seven grey hares, And them to rin a race, And I mysel a good greyhound, I would gie them a chace.' Up and spak the bonny bride, In chamber where she lay: 'There is a lady in this bower, She will gae mad or day.' 'Lye still, lye still, my bonny bride, Lye still and tak a sleep; It's but ane o my wine puncheons; Nae langer wad it keep.' 'King Henry was my father dear, Queen Catherine was my mother, Lady Anne she was my sister dear, And Frederick was my brother. 'And whan I was six years of age, They ca'd me Mary Mild; I was stown frae my father's yate, Whan I was but a child.' Then up and spak the bonny bride, By her lord as she lay: 'Lye down, lye down, my dear sister, There's nae ill done for me. 'O seven ships conveyd me here, And seven came oer the main; And four o them shall stay wi you, And three convey me hame. 'But when I gae hame to my father's house, They will laugh me to scorn, To come awa a wedded wife, Gae hame a maid the morn.'

Motherwell's manuscript, p., from the recitation of Janet Holmes, an old woman in Kilbarchan, who derived the ballad from her mother; July 18,.

to mak you bed, honey, And learn to lye your lane, For I'm gaun owre the salt seas, A fair lady to bring hame. 'And with her I'll get gold and gear, With thee I neer got nane; I took you as a waaf woman, I leave you as the same.' 'What aileth thee at me, my lord, What aileth thee at me, When seven bonnie sons I have born, All of your fair bodie? 'The eldest of your seven sons, He can both read and write; The second of your sons, my lord, Can do it more perfyte. 'The third one of your sons, my lord, He waters your milk-white steed; The fourth one of your sons, my lord, With red gold shines his weed. 'The fifth one of your sons, my lord, He serves you when you dine; The sixth one now you do behold, How he walks out and in. 'The seventh one of your sons, my lord, Sucks hard at my breast-bane; When a' the house they are at rest, For him I can get nane. 'And if you leave me thus forlorn, A wainless wife I'll be, For anybody's gold or gear That is beyond the sea.' 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, Or wha will brew my ale? Or wha will cook my kitchen neat, Or give my men their meal?' 'For love I'll bake your bridal bread, To brew your ale I'm fain, To cook your kitchen, as I have done, Till you return again.' 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, Or wha will brew my ale? Or wha will welcome my braw bride, That I bring owre the dale?' 'For love I'll bake your bridal bread, For love I'll brew your ale, And I will welcome your braw bride That you bring owre the dale.' Her mind she keeped, but sair she weepd The time that he was gane . . . . . . . . . . . . 'Go up, go up, my eldest son, Go to the upmost ha, And see if you see your father coming, With your mother-to-be-in-law.' 'Put on, put on, O mother dear, Put on your gouns so braw, For yonder is my father coming, With my mother-to-be-in-law.' She's taen the wheat-bread in one hand, The red wines, which plenty were, And she's gane to the outmost gate, And bid them welcome there. 'You're welcome here, my brother dear, Ye're welcome, brother John; Ye're welcome a' my brethern dear, That has this journey gone.' 'I thank you, sister Annie,' he says, 'And I thank you heartilie, And as you've welcomed home myself, You'll welcome my fair ladye.' 'If I had roses to my feet, And ribbons to my gown, And as leal a maid as your braw bride, I would speak without a frown.' He's given her roses to her feet, And ribbons to her gown, And she has welcomed his braw bride, But weel that was her own! 'I thank you, sister Annie,' she says, 'I thank you heartilie, And if I be seven years about this place, Rewarded you shall be.' She served them up, she served them down, And she served all their cries, And aye as she came down the stair The tears fell from her eyes. When mass was sung, and all bells rung, And all men boune for bed, The good lord and his fair lady Were in their chamber laid. But poor Annie and her seven sons Was in a room hard by, And as she lay she sighed and wept, And thus began to cry: 'O were my sons transformed to cats, To speel this castle wa, And I mysell a red blood-hound That I might worry them a'!' The bride she overhearing all, And sair she rued her fate: 'Awauk, awauk, my lord,' she said, 'Awauk, for well you may; For There's a woman in this gate That will go mad ere day. 'I fear she is a leman of thine, And a leman meek and mild; Get up and pack her down the stairs, Tho the woods were neer sae wild.' 'O yes, she is a leman of mine, And a leman meek and kind, And I will not pack her down the stairs, For a' the gear that's thine.' 'O wha's your father, Ann?' she says, 'Or wha's your mother dear? Or wha's your sister, Ann?' she says, 'Or brother? let me hear.' 'King Easter he's my father dear, The Queen my mother was; John Armstrang, in the west-airt lands, My eldest brother is.' 'Then I'm your sister, Ann,' she says, 'And I'm a full sister to thee; You were stolen awa when very young, By the same lord's treacherie. 'I've seven ships upon the sea, All loaded to the brim, And five of them I'll give to thee, And twa shall carry me hame. 'My mother shall mak my tocher up, When I tell her how you thrive; For we never knew where you was gone, Or if you was alive.'

Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs,, p.. ' will bake my bridal bread, And brew my bridal ale? And wha will welcome my brisk bride, That I bring oer the dale?' 'I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, And I will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring oer the dale.' 'But she that welcomes my brisk bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And braid her yellow hair.' 'But how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane? Have I not born seven sons to thee, And am with child agen?' She's taen her young son in her arms, Another in her hand, And she's up to the highest tower, To see him come to land. 'You're welcome to your house, master, You're welcome to your land; You're welcome with your fair lady, That you lead by the hand.'     '' And ay she servd the lang tables, With white bread and with wine, And ay she drank the wan water, To had her colour fine. Now he's taen down a silk napkin, Hung on the silver pin, And ay he wipes the tears trickling Adown her cheek and chin.

Jamieson-Brown ., fol. 20; Jamieson's Popular Ballads,,.

'O will bake my bridal bread, And brew my bridal ale? Wha will welcome my bright bride, That I bring oer the dale?' 'O I will bake your bridal bread, An brew your bridal ale; An I will welcome your bright bride, That you bring oer the dale. 'O she that welcomes my bright bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace her in her green cloathin, An braid her yallow hair.' 'O how can I gang maiden like, Whan maiden I am nane? Whan I ha born you seven sons, An am wi bairn again?' The lady stood in her bowr door An lookit oer the lan, An there she saw her ain good lord, Leadin his bride by the han. She's dressd her sons i the scarlet red, Hersel i the dainty green, An tho her cheek lookd pale and wan, She well might ha been a queen. She calld upon her eldest son: 'Look yonder what you see; For yonder comes your father dear, Your step-mother him wi. 'O you'r welcome hame, my ain good lord, To your ha's but an your bowrs; You'r welcome hame, my ain good lord, To your castles an your towrs: Sae is your bright bride you beside, She's fairer nor the flowers.' 'O whatn a lady's that?' she says, 'That welcoms you an me? If I'm lang lady about this place, Some good I will her dee. She looks sae like my sister Jane, Was stoln i the bowr frae me.' O she has servd the lang tables, Wi the white bread an the wine; But ay she drank the wan water, To keep her colour fine. 'An she gid by the first table, An leugh amo them a'; But ere she reachd the second table, She let the tears down fa. She's taen a napkin lang an white, An hung't upon a pin; It was to dry her watry eyes, As she went out and in. Whan bells were rung, an mass was sung, An a' man boun to bed, The bride but an the bonny bridegroom In ae chamber was laid. She's taen her harp intill her han, To harp this twa asleep; An ay as she harped an she sang, Full sorely did she weep. 'O seven fu fair sons I have born To the good lord o this place, An I wish that they were seven hares, To run the castle race, An I mysel a good gray houn, An I woud gi them chase. 'O seven fu fair sons I have born To the good lord o this ha; I wish that they were seven rottons, To rin the castle wa, An I mysell a good gray cat, I wot I woud worry them a' 'The earle o Richmond was my father, An the lady was my mother, An a' the bairns bisides mysel Was a sister an a brother.' 'Sing on, sing on, ye gay lady, I wot ye hae sung in time; Gin the earle o Richmond was your father, I wot sae was he mine.' 'Rise up, rise up, my bierly bride; I think my bed's but caul; I woudna hear my lady lament For your tocher ten times taul. 'O seven ships did bring you here, An an sal tak you hame; The leve I'll keep to your sister Jane, For tocher she gat nane.'

Motherwell's ., p. ; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. . From the recitation of Mrs Rule, Paisley, August 16,.

' to mak your bed, Annie, And learn to lie your lane, For I maun owre the salt seas gang, A brisk bride to bring hame. 'Bind up, bind up your yellow hair, And tye it in your neck, And see you look as maiden-like As the first day that we met.' 'O how can I look maiden-like, When a maid I'll never be; When seven brave sons I've born to thee, And the eighth is in my bodie? 'The eldest of your sons, my lord, Wi red gold shines his weed; The second of your sons, my lord, Rides on a milk-white steed. 'And the third of your sons, my lord, He draws your beer and wine, And the fourth of your sons, my lord, Can serve you when you dine. 'And the fift of your sons, my lord, He can both read and write, And the sixth of your sons, my lord, Can do it maist perfyte. 'And the sevent of your sons, my lord, Sits on the nurse's knee; And how can I look maiden-like, When a maid I'll never be? 'But wha will bake your wedding bread, And brew your bridal ale? Or wha will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring owre the dale?' 'I'll put cooks in 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 brisk bride, That I bring owre the dale.' He set his fut into his ship, And his cock-boat on the main; He swore it would be year and day Or he returned again. When year and day was past and gane, Fair Annie she thocht lang, And she is up to her bower-head, To behold both sea and land. 'Come up, come up, my eldest son, And see now what you see; O yonder comes your father dear, And your stepmother-to-be.' 'Cast off your gown of black, mother, Put on your gown of brown, And I'll put off my mourning weeds, And we'll welcome him home.' She's taken wine into her hand, And she has taken bread, And she is down to the water-side To welcome them indeed. 'You're welcome, my lord, you're welcome, my lord, You're welcome home to me; So is every lord and gentleman That is in your companie. 'You're welcome, my lady, you're welcome, my lady, You're welcome home to me; So is every lady and gentleman That's in your companye.' 'I thank you, my girl, I thank you, my girl, I thank you heartilie; If I live seven years about this house, Rewarded you shall be.' She served them up, she served them down, With the wheat bread and the wine; By aye she drank the cold water, To keep her colour fine. She servd them up, she servd them down, With the wheat bread and the beer; By aye she drank the cauld water, To keep her colour clear. When bells were rung and mass was sung, And all were boune for rest, Fair Annie laid her sons in bed, And a sorrowful woman she was. 'Will I go to the salt, salt seas, And see the fishes swim? Or will I go to the gay green-wood, And hear the small birds sing?' Out and spoke an aged man, That stood behind the door: 'Ye will not go to the salt, salt seas, To see the fishes swim; Nor will ye go to the gay green-wood, To hear the small birds sing. 'But ye'll take a harp, into your hand, Go to the chamber door, And aye ye'll harp, and aye ye'll murn, With the salt tears falling oer.' She's tane a harp into her hand, Went to their chamber door, And aye she harpd, and aye she murnd, With the salt tears falling oer. Out and spak the brisk young bride, I n bride-bed where she lay: 'I think I hear my sister Annie, And I wish weel it may; For a Scotish lord staw her awa, And an ill death may he die! 'Wha was your father, my girl,' she says, 'Or wha was your mother? Or had you ever a sister dear, Or had you ever a brother?' 'King Henry was my father dear, Queen Easter was my mother, Prince Henry was my brother dear, And Fanny Flower my sister.' 'If King Henry was your father dear, And Queen Easter was your mother, And Prince Henry was your brother dear, Then surely I'm your sister. 'Come to your bed, my sister dear, It neer was wrangd for me, But an ae kiss of his merry mouth, As we cam owre the sea.' 'Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride, Awa, awa frae me! I wudna hear my Annie greet, For a' the gold I got wi thee.' 'There was five ships of gay red gold Came owre the seas with me; It's twa o them will take me hame, And three I'll leave wi thee. 'Seven ships o white money Came owre the seas wi me; Five o them I'll leave wi thee, And twa'll tak me hame, And my mother will mak my portion up, When I return again.'

62 G: Fair Annie

Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as current in County Meath, Ireland,.

served them up, she served them down, She served them up with wine, But still she drank the clear spring water, To keep her color fine. 'I must get up, she must sit down, She must sit in my place, Or else be torn by wild horses And thrown over the gates.' 'You wont get up, she wont sit down, She wont sit in your place, Nor yet be torn by wild horses, Nor thrown over the gates.' She called up her seven sons, By one, by two, by three: 'I wish you were all seven gray-hounds, This night to worry me.' 'What ails you, fair Ellen? what ails you, fair? Or why do you sigh and moan?' 'The hoops are off my wine hogsheads, And my wine is overflown.'

62 H: Fair Annie

From Dr Thomas Davidson. Aberdeenshire.

' wha will bake my bridal bread, An brew my bridal ale, And wha will welcome my bride hame, Is mair that I can tell.' 'It's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, But wha will welcome your bride hame, It'll need tae be yersel.' An she's hung up a silken towel Upon a golden pin, ...tae wipe her een, As she gaed but and ben.

Kinloch, I, , May,. "Composed of three recited versions obtained in the west of Scotland."

' to mak your bed, Annie, And learn to lie your lane; For I am gaing oure the saut seas, A brisk bride to bring hame. 'Wi her I will get gowd and gear; Wi thee I neer gat nane; I got thee as a waif woman, I'll leave thee as the same. 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale? Or wha welcome my brisk bride, That I'll bring oure the dale?' 'O I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale; But I downa welcam your brisk bride That ye'll bring frae the dale.' 'She that welcomes my brisk bride, She maun took maiden-like; She maun kaim doun her yellow locks, And lay them in her neck.' 'O how can I look maiden-like, When maiden I am nane? For seven sons I hae born to thee, And the eighth lies in my wame. 'But what aileth thee at me, my lord, What aileth thee at me, Whan seven braw sons I've born to thee, Out of my fair bodie? 'The first ane of your sons, my lord, Can baith read and write; And the second of your sons, my lord, Can do it maist perfyte. 'The third ane o your sons, my lord, Can water your grey steed; And the fourth ane o your sons, my lord, Can bake your bridal bread. 'The fifth ane o your sons, my lord, Can serve ye whan ye dine; And the sixth ane o your sons, my lord, Can brew your bridal wine. 'The seventh ane o your sons, my lord, Lies close at my breist-bane; Whan a' the lave are fast asleep, It's rest I can get nane.' He set his foot into the stirrup, His hand upon the mane; Says, It will be year and day, ladie, Ere ye see me again. Whan he had ae foot on the sea, The ither on dry lan, 'It will be year and day, ladie, Till I come back again.' Whan year and day war past and gane, Fair Annie she thought lang; And she went up to her hie tower, Wi a silk seam in her hand. She lookit east, she lookit west, And south, below the sun, And there she spied her ain gude lord, Coming sailing to the lan. She called up her seven braw sons, By ane, twa, and by three: 'See, yonder comes your father, And your mother-for-to-be.' And she called up her servants a': 'O come, behold and see! O yonder comes your master dear, And a new mistress brings he. 'Gae doun, gae doun, my eldest son, Into the outmost ha, And if ye welcome ane o them, Be sure to welcome a'.' Some ran east, and some ran west, And some ran to the sea; There was na ane in a' his house To welcome his new ladie. But Annie's to her coffer gane, Tane out a silver kaim, And she's kaimd doun her yellow hair, As she a maid had been. And Annie has kaimd her lang yellow locks, And laid them in her neck; And she's awa to the saut, saut sea, To welcome his lady aff deck. She durst na ca him her ain gude lord, For angering o the bride; But she did ca him master dear, And I wat he was richt glad. 'You're welcome, you're welcome, master,' she said, 'To your halls bot an your bouers; And sae are a' thir merry young men That come alang with you. 'You're welcome, you're welcome, fair ladie, To your halls but an your bouers; And sae are a' thir gay ladies; For a' that's here is yours.' 'I thank ye, I thank ye, fair maiden, I thank ye kindlie; If I be lang about this house, Rewarded ye sall be. 'I have a brither o mine ain; He's newly come from sea; I think it wad be a richt gude match To marry him and thee.' 'I thank ye, I thank ye, fair ladie; Gie your brither to whom like ye; But there's never ane in this warld My wedding day sall see: But one word o my master dear In private wad I be.'     '' The first dish that fair Annie set doun, She lookit baith pale and wan; The neist dish that fair Annie set doun, She was scarce able to stan. 'O is this your mistress, good lord,' she says, 'Although she looks modest and mild? Then we will hunt her frae our house Wi dogs and hawks sae wild.' 'She's na my mistress, dear lady,' he says, 'Altho she looks modest and mild; Nor will we hunt her frae our house Wi dogs and hawks sae wild.' Whan bells war rung, and mass was sung, And a' men boun for bed, The bonnie bride and the bridegroom In bride's bed they were laid. Whan dinner was past, and supper was by, And a' were boun for bed, Fair Annie and her seven sons In a puir bye-chamber war laid. Fair Annie took out her virginals, And sadly did she play; . . . . . . . . . . 'O gin my sons were yon grey rats, That climb the castle-wa, And I mysel a bloody grey cat, I'd rise and worry them a'.' Then out and spak the bonny bride, In bride's bed whare she lay: 'I think this is like my sister Anne, That doth sae sadly play.' 'Lie still, lie still, my gay ladie, Lie still and sleep a wee; It's nathing but an auld servant, That waileth sae for me.' 'O gin my seven sons were seven young hares, That rin round the castle wa, And I mysel a bluidy grewhund, I wad rise and worry them a'.' The new bride waukenit in the nicht, And blew upon her horn: 'I think I hear my sister's voice, That was stown frae us a bairn.' 'Sleep on, sleep on, dear lady,' he says, 'It's yon maiden in her dream, . . . . . . . . . . . . 'O wha was eer thy father, fair maid, Or wha was eer thy mither? Or wha was eer thy ae sister, Or wha was eer thy brither?' 'King Henry was my father,' she said, 'Queen Elinore was my mither; Fair Marion was my ae sister, Earl Robert was my brither.' 'Sin King Henry was your father, fair maid, And Queen Elinore your mither, O I am een your ae sister, And ye are just the ither. 'Come to your bed, fair Annie,' she said, 'Come to your bed full sune; I may weel say, I daur weel say, There is na evil dune. 'Seven ships of gold did bring me here, But ane shall tak me hame; Six I will leave to my sister Anne, To bring up her children young. 'But whan I gang to my father's ha, And tirl on the pin, The meanest in a' my father's house Will ca me a forsaken ane.'

Buchan's, I, 66.

', O learn, Fair Annie,' he said, 'O learn to lie your lane; For I am going ower the sea, To woo and to bring hame 'A brighter and a fairer dame Than ever ye hae been; For I am going ower the sea, To chuse and bring her hame.' 'What aileth thee, my ain gude lord, What aileth thee at me? For seven braw sons hae I born Unto your fair bodie. 'The eldest o your sons, my lord, Is heir o a' your land; The second o your braw young sons He rises at your right hand. 'The third o your braw young sons He serves you when you dine; The fourth o your braw sons, my lord, He bring to you the wine. 'The fifth o your braw young sons Right well can use the pen; The sixth o your braw young sons, He's travelling but and ben. 'The seventh o your braw young sons, He lies on my breast-bane, The fairest flower amo them a', That lay my sides between.' 'But I am going ower the sea, To woo and to bring hame A lady wi some gowd and gear; Wi you I never got nane.' 'Ye staw me awa in twall years auld, Ye sought nae gowd wi me; Ye put me to the schools o Ayr For fully years three. 'But wha'll be cook in your kitchen, And butler in your ha? And wha will govern your merry young men, When ye are far awa?' 'O ye'll be cook in my kitchen, And butler in my ha, And ye'll wait on my merry young men, And serve them ane and a'.' 'But wha will bake your bridal bread, And wha will brew your ale? And wha will welcome that lady That ye bring ower the dale. 'O ye will bake my bridal bread, And ye will brew my ale, And ye will welcome that lady That I bring ower the dale. 'Ye'll bake bread, and ye'll brew ale, For three score knights and ten; That day month I gang awa, The same day I'll come again.' 'O I will bake your bridal bread, And I will brew your ale; But oh, to welcome another woman My heart will nae be hale.' 'Ye will put roses in your hair, And ribbons in your sheen, And ye will look fair maiden like, Though maiden ye be nane.' 'O I'll put roses in my hair, And ribbons in my sheen, And may be look as maiden-like As the bride ye bring hame.' Two of his sons he sent before, And two rade by his side, And three he left at hame wi her, She was the brightest bride. As she was gazing her around, To view the rural plain, And there she saw the bridal folk, Merrily coming hame. 'Come here, come here, my boys a', Ye see not what I see; For here I see your fair father, And a step-mother to thee. 'O shall I call him honey, Sandy, Husband, or my gude lord? Or shall I call him my gude master, Let well or woe betide?' 'Ye winna call him honey, mother, For angering o the bride; But ye'll call him your gude master, Let well or woe betide.' She buskd her bonny boys in black, Herself in simple green, A kaim o gowd upon her hair, As maiden she had been. She's taen the white bread in her lap, The wine glass in her hand, And she's gane out upo the green, To welcome the bride hame. She woudna ca him her ain gude lord, For angering o the bride: 'Ye're welcome hame, my gude master, Your lands lie braid and wide.' 'O fair mat fa you, Fair Annie, Sae well's ye've welcomd me; Ye might hae welcomd my new bride; Some gift to you she'll gie.' 'Ye're welcome hame, ye new-come bride, To your ha's and your bowers; Ye're welcome hame, my lady gay, Ye're whiter that the flowers.' 'O wha is this,' the bride did say, 'Sae well that welcomes me? If I'm lang lady o this place Some gift to her I'll gie. 'She's likest to my dear sister That eer my eyes did see; A landit lord staw her awa, An ill death mat he die! 'I hae a brother here this day, Fairer ye neer did see; And I woud think nae ill a match Unto this fair ladie.' 'Ye'll wed your brother on a stock, Sae do ye on a stane; I'll wed me to the kingdom of heaven, For I'll neer wed a man.' She servd the footmen o the beer, The nobles o the wine; But nane did cross her pale, pale lips, For changing o her min. When she came in unto the room She leuch amo them a', But when she turnd her back about She loot the saut tears fa. She hanged up a silken cloath Upon a siller pin; It was to dry her twa blue eyes, As she went out and in. Her heart wi sorrow sair was filld, Her breast wi milk ran out; She aft went ot a quiet chamber, And let her young son suck. 'There is a woman in this house This day has served me; But I'll rise up, let her sit down, She's ate, that I may see. 'O wha is this,' the bride coud say, 'That serves this day sae well? And what means a' this bonny boys, That follow at her heel?' 'This is my sister, Fair Annie, That serves this day sae well, And these are a' her bauld brothers, That follow at her heel.' Then out it speaks the new-come bride, Was full o jealousie: 'I fear there's something new, my lord, Ye mean to hide frae me. 'But if she be your light leman Has me sair beguild, She shall gae out at my window, And range the woods sae wild.' When day was dane, and night drew on, And a' man bound for bed, The bridegroom and the new-come bride In ae chamber were laid. The lady being left alone, Nursing her fair young son, She has taen up her gude lord's harp, She harped and she sung. 'Seven braw sons hae I born To the lord o this place; I wish they were seven hares To run the castle race, And I mysel a gude greyhound, To gie them a' a chace.' 'Lie near, lie near, my ain gude lord, Lie near and speak wi me; There is a woman in the house, She will be wild ere day.' 'Lie still, lie still, my new-come bride, Lie still and take your rest; The pale's out o my wine-puncheon, And lang it winna rest.' She held the harp still in her hand, To harp them baith asleep, And aye she harped and she sang, And saut tears she did weep. 'Seven braw sons hae I born To the gude lord o this ha; I wish that they were seven brown rats, To climb the castle wa, And I mysel a gude grey cat, To take them ane and a'.' 'Lie near, lie near, my ain gude lord, Lie near and speak wi me; There is a woman in this house, She will be wild ere day.' 'Lie yond, lie yond, my new-come bride, My sheets are wonderous cauld; I woudna hear my love's lament For your gowd ten thousand fauld.' 'O wae be to you, ye fause lord, Some ill death mat ye die! For that's the voice o my sister Ann, Was stown frae yont the sea.' 'Fair mat fa ye, ye buirdly bride, A gude death mat ye die! For that's the voice o your sister Ann, Was stown frae yont the sea; I came seeking Annie's tocher, I was not seeking thee.' 'Seven gude ships I hae brought here, In seven I'se gae hame; And a' the gowd that I brought here, It's a' gang back again.' 'Seven ships they brought you here, But ye'll gang hame in ane; Ye'll leave the rest to tocher Ann, For wi her I got nane.' 'Seven ships they brought me here, But I'll gang hame in ane; I'll get my sister's eldest son To hae me maiden hame. 'My father wants not gowd nor gear, He will get me a man; And happy, happy will he be To hear o his daughter Ann. 'I hae my sheen upon my feet, My gloves upon my hand, And ye'll come to your bed, Annie, For I've dane you nae wrang.'