As straight as willow wand; The blacksmith stood a little forbye, Wi' hammer in his hand. "Weel may ye dress ye, lady fair, Into your robes o' red; Before the morn at this same time, I'll gain your maidenhead!" "Awa', awa', ye coal-black smith, Would ye do me the wrang, To think to gain my maidenhead, That I hae kept sae lang?" (_forbye_, on one side.) Then she has hadden up her hand, And she sware by the mould, "I wadna be a blacksmith's wife, For the full o' a chest o' gold. "I'd rather I were dead and gone, And my body laid in grave, Ere a rusty stock o' coal-black smith, My maidenhead should have." But he has hadden up his hand, And he sware by the mass, "I'll cause ye be my light leman, For the half o' that and less." O bide, lady, bide, And aye he bade her bide, The rusty smith your leman shall be, For a' your muckle pride. Then she became a turtle dow, To fly up in the air, And he became another dow, And they flew pair and pair, O bide, lady, bide, &c. She turned hersel' into an eel, To swim into yon burn, And he became a speckled trout, To gie the eel a turn. O bide, lady, bide, &c. (_turn_, trick.) Then she became a duck, a duck, To puddle in a peel, And he became a rose-kaimed drake, To gie the duck a dreel. O bide, lady, bide, &c. She turned hersel' into a hare, To rin upon yon hill, And he became a gude grey-hound, And boldly he did fill. O bide, lady, bide, &c. Then she became a gay gray mare, And stood in yonder slack, And he became a gilt saddle, And sat upon her back. Was she wae, he held her sae, And still he bade her bide; The rusty smith her leman was, For a' her muckle pride. Then she became a hot girdle, And he became a cake, And a' the ways she turn'd hersel', The blacksmith was her make. Was she wae, &c. She turn'd hersel' into a ship, To sail out ower the flood; (_peel_, pool. _dreel_, rush (?). _slack_, dell. _make_, mate. He ca'ed a nail intill her tail, And syne the ship she stood. Was she wae, &c. Then she became a silken plaid, And stretch'd upon a bed, And he became a green covering, And gain'd her maidenhead. Was she wae, &c. BROWN ROBIN [Illustration: 0219] |The king but an his nobles a' Sat birling at the wine; He would ha' nane but his ae daughter To wait on them at dine. (_ca'ed_, drove. _birling_, drinking.) She's serv'd them but, she's serv'd them ben, Intill a gown of green, But her ee was aye on Brown Robin That stood low under the rain. She's do'en her to her bigly bower, As fast as she could gang, An' there she's drawn her shot-window, An' she's harped an' she's sang.