"And four-and-twenty fair ladyes Will to the mass repair; But weel may ye my ladye ken, 35 The fairest ladye there." Lord William has written a love-letter, Put it under his pinion gray; And he is awa to southern land As fast as wings can gae. 40 And even at the ladye's bour There grew a flowering birk; And he sat down and sung thereon As she gaed to the kirk. And weel he kent that ladye fair 45 Amang her maidens free; For the flower that springs in May morning Was not sae sweet as she. He lighted at the ladye's yate, And sat him on a pin; 50 And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love, Till a' was cosh within. And first he sang a low, low note, And syne he sang a clear; And aye the o'erword o' the sang 55 Was--"Your love can no win here."-- "Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', The wine flows you amang, While I gang to my shot-window, And hear yon bonny bird's sang. 60 "Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird, The sang ye sung yestreen; For weel I ken, by your sweet singing, Ye are frae my true love sen." O first he sang a merry sang, 65 And syne he sang a grave; And syne he pick'd his feathers gray, To her the letter gave. "Have there a letter from Lord William; He says he's sent ye three; 70 He canna wait your love langer, But for your sake he'll die."-- "Gae bid him bake his bridal bread, And brew his bridal ale; And I shall meet him at Mary's kirk, 75 Lang, lang ere it be stale." The lady's gane to her chamber, And a moanfu' woman was she; As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash, And were about to die. 80 "A boon, a boon, my father deir, A boon I beg of thee!"-- "Ask not that paughty Scottish lord, For him you ne'er shall see: "But, for your honest asking else, 85 Weel granted it shall be."-- "Then, gin I die in Southern land, In Scotland gar bury me. "And the first kirk that ye come to, Ye's gar the mass be sung; 90 And the next kirk that ye come to, Ye's gar the bells be rung. "And when you come to St. Mary's kirk, Ye's tarry there till night." And so her father pledg'd his word, 95 And so his promise plight. She has ta'en her to her bigly bour As fast as she could fare; And she has drank a sleepy draught, That she had mix'd wi' care. 100