Frae sister and frae brother. And they hae banish'd Brown Adam, Frae the flower o' a' his kin; And he's bigged a bower i' the gude greenwood Between his lady and him. O it fell once upon a day, Brown Adam he thought lang; An' he would to the green-wood gang, To hunt some venison. He has ta'en his bow his arm o'er, His bran' intill his han', And he is to the gude green-wood As fast as he could gang. O he's shot up, and he's shot down, The bird upon the briar; And he sent it hame to his lady, Bade her be of gude cheer. O he's shot up, and he's shot down, The bird upon the thorn; And sent it hame to his lady, Said he'd be hame the morn. When he came to his lady's bower door He stood a little forbye, And there he heard a fu' fause knight Tempting his gay lady. For he's ta'en out a gay goud ring, Had cost him many a poun', "O grant me love for love, lady, And this sal be thy own."-- "I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she says; "I wot sae does he me; An I wadna gie Brown Adam's love For nae fause knight I see."-- Out has he ta'en a purse o' goud, Was a' fu' to the string, "O grant me but love for love, lady, And a' this sail be thine."-- "I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she says; "I wot sae does he me: I wadna be your light leman, For mair nor ye could gie." Then out has he drawn his lang, lang bran', And he's flash'd it in her een; "Now grant me love for love, lady, Or thro' ye this shall gang!"-- Oh, sighing, said that gay lady, "Brown Adam tarries lang!"-- Then up it starts Brown Adam, Says--"I'm just at your hand."-- He's gar'd him leave his bow, his bow, He's gar'd him leave his brand, He's gar'd him leave a better pledge-- Four fingers o' his right hand. THE LAIRD O' LOGIE |I will sing, if ye will hearken, If ye will hearken unto me; The king has ta'en a poor prisoner, The wanton laird o' young Logie. Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel, Carmichael's the keeper o' the key; And May Margaret's lamenting sair, A' for the love o' young Logie. "Lament, lament na, May Margaret, And of your weeping let me be; For ye maun to the king himsel', To seek the life o' young Logie." May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding, And she has curl'd back her yellow hair,-- "If I canna get young Logie's life, Farewell to Scotland for evermair." When she came before the king, She kneelit lowly on her knee. "O what's the matter, May Margaret? And what needs a' this courtesy?" "A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee! And the first boon that I come to crave Is to grant me the life o' young Logie." "Ona, O na, May Margaret, Forsooth, and so it mauna be; For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland Shall not save the life o' young Logie."