The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 4/Chapter 97

king but an his nobles a' Sat birling at the wine; He would ha nane but his ae daughter To wait on them at dine. She's servd them butt, she's servd them ben, Intill a gown of green, But her ee was ay on Brown Robin, That stood low under the rain. She's doen her to her bigly bowr, As fast as she coud gang, An there she's drawn her shot-window, An she's harped an she sang. 'There sits a bird i my father's garden, An O but she sings sweet! I hope to live an see the day Whan wi my love I'll meet.' 'O gin that ye like me as well As your tongue tells to me, What hour o the night, my lady bright, At your bowr sal I be?' 'Whan my father an gay Gilbert Are baith set at the wine, O ready, ready I will be To lat my true-love in.' O she has birld her father's porter Wi strong beer an wi wine, Until he was as beastly drunk As ony wild-wood swine: She's stown the keys o her father's yates An latten her true-love in. Whan night was gane, an day was come, An the sun shone on their feet, Then out it spake him Brown Robin, I'll be discoverd yet. Then out it spake that gay lady: My love, ye need na doubt; For wi ae wile I've got you in, Wi anither I'll bring you out. She's taen her to her father's cellar, As fast as she can fare; She's drawn a cup o the gude red wine, Hung 't low down by her gare; An she met wi her father dear Just coming down the stair. 'I woud na gi that cup, daughter, That ye hold i your han For a' the wines in my cellar, An gantrees whare the stan.' 'O wae be to your wine, father, That ever't came oer the sea; 'T' is pitten my head in sick a steer I my bowr I canna be.' 'Gang out, gang out, my daughter dear, Gang out an tack the air; Gang out an walk i the good green wood, An a' your marys fair.' Then out it spake the proud porter-+- Our lady wishd him shame-+- 'We'll send the marys to the wood, But we'll keep our lady at hame.' 'There's thirty marys i my bowr, There's thirty o them an three; But there's nae ane amo them a' Kens what flowr gain for me.' She's doen her to her bigly bowr, As fast as she could gang, An she has dresst him Brown Robin Like ony bowr-woman. The gown she pat upon her love Was o the dainty green, His hose was o the saft, saft silk, His shoon o the cordwain fine. She's pitten his bow in her bosom, His arrow in her sleeve, His sturdy bran her body next, Because he was her love. Then she is unto her bowr-door, As fast as she coud gang; But out it spake the proud porter-+- Our lady wishd him shame-+- 'We'll cout our marys to the wood, An we'll cout them back again.' The firsten mary she sent out Was Brown Robin by name; Then out it spake the king himsel, 'This is a sturdy dame.' O she went out in a May morning, In a May morning so gay, But she came never back again, Her auld father to see.

A fowl's in your orchard, father, O dear, but it sings sweet! What would I give, my father dear, That bonnie bird to meet!' What would I give, etc. 'O hold your tongue, my daughter Mary, Let a' your folly be; There's six Scots lords tomorrow, child, That will a' dine wi me, And ye maun serve tham a', Mary, As 'twere for meat and fee.' She served them up, sae has she down, The footmen a' the same, But her mind was aye on Love Robbie, Stood out below the rain. A hundred pun o pennies roun, Tied in a towel so sma, She has gien to him Love Robbie, Out oer the castle-wa; Says, Tak ye that, my love Robbie And mysel ye may hae. A hundred pun o pennies roun, Tied in a napkin white, She has gien to him Love Robbie, Out oer the garden-dyke; Says, Tak ye that, my Love Robbie, And mysel gin ye like. 'If this be true ye tell to me, As your tongue woudna lee, I shall be in your bigly bower Before the clock strike three; I shall be in your bigly bower, Dressd like a gay ladye.' When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And all men bound for bed, Love Robbie came to Mary's bower, Dressd like a comely maid. They had not kissd nor love clapp d, As lovers when they meet, Till sighing said he Love Robbie, My life, my life I doubt. 'Your life, your life, you Love Robbie, Your life you needna doubt; For it was wiles brought in Robbie, And wiles will lat him out.' Then in it came her father dear, And stood upon the floor, And she filld the cup of good red wine, Said, Father, will ye drink more? 'O better I love the cup, Mary, The cup that's in your hand, Than all my barrels full of wine, On the gantrees where they stand.' 'O woe be to your wine, father, It eer came oer the sea! If I getna the air o good greenwood O I will surely dee.' 'There's seven maries in your bower, There's seven o them and three, And I'll send them to good greenwood, For flowers to shortsome thee.' 'There's seven maries in my bower, There's seven o them and three, But there's nae a mary mang them a' Can pu flowers to shortsome me:' 'Then by my sooth,' said her father dear, 'Let yoursel gang them wi.' She dressd hersel in the royal red, Love Robbie was in dainty green; Love Robbie's brand was about his middle, And he shone like ony queen. The firsten ane that took the floor, Love Robbie was that ane: 'Now by my sooth,' said the proud porter, 'She is a sonsie dame; I would not care now very much To turn her in again.' 'I'd fain see any woman or man, Of high or low degree, Would turn a mary in again That once came out with me.' They had not been in good greenwood, Pu'd a flower but only three, Till the porter stood behind a bush, And shot him Love Robbie. Now word has come to her father dear, In the chamber where he lay, Lady Mary's sick in good greenwood, And cannot come away. He's taen his mantle him about, His cane into his han, And he is on to good greenwood, As fast as he could gang. 'O want you fish out o the fleed, Or whale out o the sea? Or is there any one alive This day has angerd thee?' 'I want not fish out o the fleed, Nor whale out o the sea; But woe be to your proud porter, Sae sair's he's angerd me! He's shot the fairest flower this day, That would hae comfort me.' 'O hold your tongue, my daughter Mary, Let a' your folly be; Tomorrow ere I eat or drink High hang d shall he be.'

' is a bird in my father's orchard, And dear, but it sings sweet! I hope to live to see the day This bird and I will meet.' 'O hold your tongue, my daughter Mally, Let a' your folly be; What bird is that in my orchard Sae shortsome is to thee? 'There are four-an-twenty noble lords The morn shoud dine wi me; And ye maun serve them a', Mally, Like one for meat and fee.' She servd the nobles all as one, The horsemen much the same; But her mind was aye to Brown Robyn, Beneath the heavy rain. Then she's rowd up a thousand pounds Intil a servit white, And she gae that to Brown Robyn, Out ower the garden-dyke: Says, Take ye that, my love Robyn, And mysell gin ye like. 'If this be true, my dame,' he said, 'That ye hae tauld to me, About the hour o twall at night, At your bower-door I'll be.' But ere the hour o twall did chap, And lang ere it was ten, She had hersell there right and ready To lat Brown Robyn in. They hadna kissd nor love clapped Till the birds sang on the ha; 'O,' sighing says him Brown Robyn, 'I wish I were awa!' They hadna sitten muckle langer Till the guards shot ower the way; Then sighing says him Brown Robyn, 'I fear my life this day.' 'O had your tongue, my love Robyn, Of this take ye nae doubt; It was by wiles I brought you in, By wiles I'll bring you out.' Then she's taen up a cup o wine, To her father went she; 'O drink the wine, father,' she said, 'O drink the wine wi me.' 'O well love I the cup, daughter, But better love I the wine; And better love I your fair body Than a' the gowd in Spain.' 'Wae be to the wine, father, That last came ower the sea; Without the air o gude greenwood, There's nae remeid for me.' 'Ye've thirty maries in your bower, Ye've thirty and hae three; Send ane o them to pu a flower, Stay ye at hame wi me.' 'I've thirty maries in my bower, I've thirty o them and nine; But there's nae a marie amo them a' That kens my grief and mind. 'For they may pu the nut, the nut, And sae may they the slae, But there's nane amo them a' that kens The herb that I woud hae.' 'Well, gin ye gang to gude greenwood, Come shortly back again; Ye are sae fair and are sae rare, Your body may get harm.' She dressd hersell into the red, Brown Robyn all in green, And put his brand across his middle, He was a stately dame. The first ane stepped ower the yett, It was him Brown Robyn; 'By my sooth,' said the proud porter, 'This is a stately dame. 'O wi your leave, lady,' he said, 'And leave o a' your kin, I woudna think it a great sin To turn that marie in.' 'O had your tongue, ye proud porter, Let a' your folly be; Ye darena turn a marie in That ance came forth wi me.' 'Well shall I call your maries out, And as well shall I in; For I am safe to gie my oath That marie is a man.' Soon she went to gude greenwood, And soon came back again; 'Gude sooth,' replied the proud porter, 'We've lost our stately dame.' 'My maid's faen sick in gude greenwood, And sick and liken to die; The morn before the cocks do craw, That marie I maun see.' Out it spake her father then, Says, Porter, let me know If I will cause her stay at hame, Or shall I let her go? 'She says her maid's sick in the wood, And sick and like to die; I really think she is too gude Nor ever woud make a lie.' Then he whispered in her ear, As she was passing by, 'What will ye say if I reveal What I saw wi my eye?' 'If ought ye ken about the same, O heal that well on me, And if I live or brook my life, Rewarded ye shall be.' Then she got leave o her father To gude greenwood again, And she is gane wi Brown Robyn, But 'twas lang ere she came hame. O then her father began to mourn, And thus lamented he: 'O I woud gie ten thousand pounds My daughter for to see.' 'If ye will promise,' the porter said, 'To do nae injury, I will find out your daughter dear, And them that's gane her wi.' Then he did swear a solemn oath, By a' his gowd and land, Nae injury to them's be dune, Whether it be maid or man. The porter then a letter wrote, And seald it wi his hand, And sent it to that lady fair, For to return hame. When she came to her father's ha, He received her joyfullie, And married her to Brown Robyn; Now a happy man was he. She hadna been in her father's ha A day but barely three, Till she settled the porter well for life, Wi gowd and white monie.