English and Scottish Ballads, Volume II

Ballads, English -- England -- Texts; Ballads, Scots -- Scotland -- Texts

"If they hae wranged my twa dauchters,
      Janet and Marjorie,
    The morn, ere I taste meat or drink,
      Hie hangit they shall be."                                      20

    And word's gane to the clerk himsell,
      As he was drinking wine,
    That his twa sons at fair Parish
      Were bound in prison strang.

    Then up and spak the Clerk's ladye,                               25
      And she spak tenderlie:
    "O tak wi' ye a purse o' gowd,
      Or even tak ye three;
    And if ye canna get William,
      Bring Henry hame to me."                                        30

    O sweetly sang the nightingale,
      As she sat on the wand;
    But sair, sair mourned Owsenford,
      As he gaed in the strand.

    When he came to their prison strang,                              35
      He rade it round about,
    And at a little shot-window,
      His sons were looking out.

    "O lie ye there, my sons," he said,
      "For owsen or for kye?                                          40
    Or what is it that ye lie for,
      Sae sair bound as ye lie?"

    "We lie not here for owsen, father;
      Nor yet do we for kye;
    But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love,                        45
      Sae sair bound as we lie.

    "O borrow us, borrow us, father," they said,
      "For the luve we bear to thee!"
    "O never fear, my pretty sons,
      Weel borrowed ye sall be."                                      50

    Then he's gane to the michty Mayor,
      And he spak courteouslie:
    "Will ye grant my twa sons' lives,
      Either for gold or fee?
    Or will ye be sae gude a man,                                     55
      As grant them baith to me?"

    "I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives,
      Neither for gold nor fee;
    Nor will I be sae gude a man,
      As gie them baith to thee;                                      60
    But before the morn at twal o'clock,
      Ye'll see them hangit hie!"

    Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters,
      Wi' kirtle coat alone;
    Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,                             65
      As they tripped on the stone.

    "Will ye gie us our loves, father,
      For gold, or yet for fee?
    Or will ye take our own sweet lives,
      And let our true loves be?"                                     70

    He's taen a whip into his hand,
      And lashed them wondrous sair;
    "Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers;
      Ye'se never see them mair."

    Then out it speaks auld Owsenford;                                75
      A sorry man was he:
    "Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs;
      For a' this maunna be."

    Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry:
      "Come here, Janet, to me;                                       80
    Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
      And love, as I gae thee?"

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

English and Scottish Ballads, Volume II

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