Fair Annie stood at her bower window, And heard that knight sae bald: 70 "O God, my heavenly Father! gif I mat my dearest hald!" That lord is to Fair Annie gane: Says, "Annie, thou winsome may, O whatten a gude gift will ye gi'e 75 My bride on her bridal day?" "I'll gi'e her a gift, and a very gude gift, And a dear-bought gift to me; For I'll gi'e her my seven fair sons, Her pages for to be." 80 "O that is a gift, but nae gude gift, Frae thee, Fair Annie, I ween; And ye maun gi'e some richer gift Befitting a noble queen." "I'll gi'e her a gift, and a dear, dear gift, 85 And a gift I brook wi' care; For I'll gi'e her my dearest life, That I dow brook nae mair." "O that is a gift, but a dowie gift, Now, Annie, thou winsome may; 90 Ye maun gi'e her your best goud girdle, Her gude will for to ha'e." "Oh na, that girdle she ne'er shall fa'; That I can never bear; The luckless morn I gave you a', 95 Ye gae me that girdle to wear." That lord before his bride gan stand: "My noble bride and queen! O whatten a gift to my lemman Annie Will now by you be gi'en?" 100 "I'll gi'e her a gift, and a very gude gift, My lord the king," said she; "For I'll gi'e her my auld shoe to wear, Best fitting her base degree." "O that is a gift, but nae gude gift, 105 My noble bride and queen; And ye maun gi'e her anither gift, If you'll my favour win." "Then I'll gi'e her a very gude gift, My lord the king," said she; 110 "I'll gie her my millers seven, that lig Sae far ayont the sea. "Well are they fed, well are they clad, And live in heal and weal; And well they ken to measure out 115 The wheat, but and caneel." Fair Annie says, "My noble lord, This boon ye grant to me; Let me gang up to the bridal bower, Your young bride for to see." 120 "O gangna, Annie, gangna, there, Nor come that bower within; Ye maunna come near that bridal bower, Wad ye my favour win." Fair Annie is till his mither gane: 125 "O lady mither," said she, "May I gang to the bridal bower, My lord's new bride to see?" "That well ye may," his mither said; But see that ye're buskit bra', 130 And clad ye in your best cleading, Wi' your bower maidens a'." Fair Annie she's gaen to the bower, Wi' heart fu' sair and sad; Wi' a' her seven sons her before, 135 In the red scarlet clad.