Ballads, English -- England -- Texts; Ballads, Scots -- Scotland -- Texts
And he's awa' to his true love's bower, 35
He's tirled at the pin:
"Whar hae ye been, my dear Johnstone,
Sae late a coming in?"
"It's I hae been at the school," he says,
"Learning young clerks to sing." 40
"I have dreamed a dreary dream," she says,
"I wish it may be for good;
They were seeking you with hawks and hounds,
And the young Col'nel was dead."
"Hawks and hounds they may seek me, 45
As I trow well they be;
For I hae killed the young Col'nel,
And thy ae brother was he."
"If ye hae killed the young Col'nel,
O dule and wae is me; 50
But I care the less for the young Col'nel,
If thy ain body be free.
"Come in, come in, my dear Johnstone,
Come in and take a sleep;
And I will go to my casement, 55
And carefully I will thee keep."
He had not weel been in her bower door,
No not for half an hour,
When four-and-twenty belted knights
Came riding to the bower. 60
"Well may you sit and see, Lady,
Well may you sit and say;
Did you not see a bloody squire
Come riding by this way?"
"What colour were his hawks?" she says, 65
"What colour were his hounds?
What colour was the gallant steed
That bore him from the bounds?"
"Bloody, bloody were his hawks,
And bloody were his hounds; 70
But milk-white was the gallant steed
That bore him from the bounds."
"Yes, bloody, bloody were his hawks,
And bloody were his hounds;
And milk-white was the gallant steed 75
That bore him from the bounds.
"Light down, light down now, gentlemen,
And take some bread and wine;
And the steed be swift that he rides on,
He's past the brig o' Lyne." 80
"We thank you for your bread, fair Lady,
We thank you for your wine;
But I wad gie thrice three thousand pound,
That bloody knight was ta'en."
"Lie still, lie still, my dear Johnstone, 85
Lie still and take a sleep;
For thy enemies are past and gone,
And carefully I will thee keep."
But young Johnstone had a little wee sword,
Hung low down by his gair, 90
And he stabbed it in fair Annet's breast,
A deep wound and a sair.
"What aileth thee now, dear Johnstone?
What aileth thee at me?
Hast thou not got my father's gold, 95
Bot and my mither's fee?"[L96]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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