He's taken out one hundred pounds, And told it in his glove: Says, "Take you that, my lady fair, And seek another love." "Oh no, oh no," the lady cried, "That's what shall never be; I'll have the truth of your right hand, The Queen it gave to me." "I wish I had drunk of your water, sister, When I did drink your wine; That for a carl's fair daughter, It does gar me dree all this pine." "May be I am a carl's daughter, And may be never nane; When ye met me in the green wood, Why did you not let me alane?" "Will you wear the short clothes, Or will you wear the side; Or will you walk to your wedding, Or will you till it ride?" "I will not wear the short clothes, But I will wear the side; I will not walk to my wedding, But I to it will ride." (_carl,_ churl, _gar_, make. _dree_, mourn, _pine_, woe. _side_, long.) When he was set upon the horse, The lady him bellin', Then cauld and eerie were the words The twa had them between. She said, "Good e'en, ye nettles tall, Just there where ye grow at the dike; If the auld carline my mother was here, Sae weel's she would your pates pike. "How she would stap you in her poke, I wot at that she wadna fail; And boil ye in her auld brass pan, And of ye make right good kail. "And she would meal you with millering That she gathers at the mill, And make you thick as any dough -, And when the pan was brimful, "Would mess you up in scuttle dishes, Syne bid us sup till we were fou -, Lay down her head upon a poke. Then sleep and snore like any sow." "Away! away! you bad woman, For all your vile words grieveth me; When ye hide so little for yourself, I;m sure ye'll hide far less for me. (_pike_, pick. _stap_, stuff. _poke_, bag. _kail_, broth. _scuttle-dish_, wooden platter.) "I wish I had drunk your water, sister, When that I did drink of your wine -, Since for a carls fair daughter, It aye gars me dree all this pine." "May be I am a carl's daughter, And may be never nane; When ye met me in the good green wood, Why did you not let me alane? "Gude e'en, gude e'en, ye heather berries, As ye're growing on yon hill; If the auld carline and her bags were here, I wot she would get meat her fill. "Late, late at night I knit our pokes, With even four-and-twenty knots; And in the morn at breakfast time, I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks. "Late, late at night I knit our pokes, With even four-and-twenty strings; And if you look to my white fingers, They have as many gay gold rings." "Away! away! ye ill woman, So sore your vile words grieveth me; When you hide so little for yourself, I'm sure ye'll hide far less for me. "But if you are a carls daughter, As I take you to be, How did you get the gay clothing,