"If ye should die for me, young man, There's few for ye will maen; For mony a better has died for me, Whose graves are growing green." "O winna ye pity me, fair maid, O winna ye pity me? Hae pity for a courteous knight, Whose love is laid on thee." "Ye say ye are a courteous knight, But I misdoubt ye sair; I think ye're but a miller lad, By the white clothes ye wear. "But ye maun read my riddle," she said, "And answer me questions three; And but ye read them richt," she said, "Gae stretch ye out and die. "What is the fairest flower, tell me, That grows on muir or dale? And what is the bird, the bonnie bird, Sings next the nightingale? And what is the finest thing," she says, "That king or queen can wale?" "The primrose is the fairest flower, That springs on muir or dale; The mavis is the sweetest bird Next to the nightingale; And yellow gowd's the finest thing, That king or queen can wale." "But what is the little coin," she said, "Wad buy my castle boun'? And what's the little boat," she said, "Can sail the warld all roun'?" "O hey, how mony small pennies Mak' thrice three thousand poun'? O hey, how mony small fishes Swim a' the saut sea roun'?" "I think ye are my match," she said, "My match, an' something mair; Ye are the first ere got the grant Of love frae my father's heir. "My father was lord o' nine castles, My mither lady o' three; My father was lord o' nine castles, And there's nane to heir but me, Unless it be Willie, my ae brither, But he's far ayont the sea." "If your father's lord o' nine castles, Your mither lady o' three; It's I am Willie, your ae brither, Was far ayont the sea." "If ye be my brither Willie," she said, "As I doubt sair ye be, This nicht I'll neither eat nor drink, But gae alang wi' thee." "Ye've owre ill-washen feet, Margaret, And owre ill-washen hands, And owre coarse robes on your body, Alang wi' me to gang. "The worms they are my bedfellows, And the cauld clay my sheet, And the higher that the wind does blaw, The sounder do I sleep. "My body's buried in Dunfermline, Sae far ayont the sea: But day nor night nae rest can I get, A' for the pride of thee. "Leave aff your pride, Margaret," he says; "Use it not ony mair, Or, when ye come where I hae been, Ye will repent it sair. "Cast aff, cast aff, sister," he says, "The gowd band frae your croun; For if ye gang where I hae been, Ye'll wear it laigher doun. "When ye are in the gude kirk set, The gowd pins in your hair, Ye tak' mair delight in your feckless dress, Than in your mornin' prayer. "And when ye walk in the kirkyard, And in your dress are seen, There is nae lady that spies your face, But wishes your grave were green. "Ye're straight and tall, handsome withal, But your pride owergangs your wit; If ye do not your ways refrain, In Pirie's chair ye'll sit.