Then cutted ha they their green cloathing, A little below their knee; And sae ha they their yallow hair, A little aboon there bree; And they’ve doen them to haely chapel Was christened by Our Ladye. There ha they changed their ain twa names, Sae far frae ony town; And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy, And the tither o them Roge the Roun. Between this twa a vow was made, An they sware it to fulfil; That at three blasts o a buglehorn, She’d come her sister till. Now Sweet Willy’s gane to the kingis court, Her true-love for to see, And Roge the Roun to good green wood, Brown Robin’s man to be. As it fell out upon a day, They a did put the stane; Full seven foot ayont them a She gard the puttin-stane gang. She leand her back against an oak, And gae a loud Ohone! Then out it spake him Brown Robin, “But that’s a woman’s moan!” “Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip? Or by my yallow hair; Or ken ye by my milk-white breast? For ye never saw it bare?” “I ken no by your red rose lip, Nor by your yallow hair; Nor ken I by your milk-white breast, For I never saw it bare; But, come to your bowr whaever sae likes, Will find a ladye there.” “Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within, Thro fraud, deceit, or guile, Wi this same bran that’s in my han I swear I will thee kill.” “But I will come thy bowr within, An spear nae leave,” quoth he; “An this same bran that’s i my ban, I sall ware back on the.” About the tenth hour of the night, The ladie’s bowr door was broken, An eer the first hour of the day The bonny knave bairn was gotten. When days were gane and months were run, The ladye took travailing, And sair she cry’d for a bow’r-woman, For to wait her upon. Then out it spake him, Brown Robin: “Now what needs a’ this din? For what coud any woman do But I coud do the same?” “Twas never my mither’s fashion,” she says, “Nor sall it ever be mine, That belted knights shoud eer remain Where ladies dreed their pine. “But ye take up that bugle-horn, An blaw a blast for me; I ha a brother i the kingis court Will come me quickly ti.” “O gin ye ha a brither on earth That ye love better nor me, Ye blaw the horn yoursel,” he says, “For ae blast I winna gie.” She’s set the horn till her mouth, And she’s blawn three blasts sae shrill; Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court, And came her quickly till. Then up it started Brown Robin, An an angry man was he: “There comes nae man this bowr within But first must fight wi me.” O they hae fought that bowr within Till the sun was gaing down, Till drops o blude frae Rose the Red Cam trailing to the groun.