Lord Thomas and fair Annet Sate a' day on a hill; Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, They had not talkt their fill. Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5 Fair Annet took it ill: "A' I will nevir wed a wife Against my ain friends will." "Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, A wife wull neir wed yee:" 10 Sae he is hame to tell his mither, And knelt upon his knee. "O rede, O rede, mither," he says, "A gude rede gie to mee: O sall I tak the nut-browne bride, 15 And let faire Annet bee?" "The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, Fair Annet she has gat nane; And the little beauty fair Annet has, O it wull soon be gane." 20 And he has till his brother gane: "Now, brother, rede ye mee; A', sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, And let fair Annet bee?" "The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25 The nut-browne bride has kye: I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, And cast fair Annet bye." "Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie, And her kye into the byre, 30 And I sall hae nothing to mysell, Bot a fat fadge by the fyre." And he has till his sister gane: "Now sister, rede ye mee; O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35 And set fair Annet free?" "Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas, And let the browne bride alane; Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace, What is this we brought hame!" 40 "No, I will tak my mithers counsel, And marrie me owt o' hand; And I will tak the nut-browne bride; Fair Annet may leive the land." Up then rose fair Annets father, 45 Twa hours or it wer day, And he is gane into the bower Wherein fair Annet lay. "Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says, "Put on your silken sheene; 50 Let us gae to St. Maries kirke, And see that rich weddeen." "My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, And dress to me my hair; Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 55 See yee lay ten times mair. "My maids, gae to my dressing-room, And dress to me my smock; The one half is o' the holland fine, The other o' needle-work." 60 The horse fair Annet rade upon, He amblit like the wind; Wi' siller he was shod before, Wi' burning gowd behind. Four and twanty siller bells 65 Wer a' tyed till his mane, And yae tift o' the norland wind, They tinkled ane by ane.