But out there cam Lord Lochinvar, Out frae the English Border, All for to court this bonny may, Weel mounted, and in order. He told her father, he told her mother, And a’ the lave[#] o’ her kin; But he told na the bonny may hersell, Till on her wedding e’en. [#] rest. She sent to the Lord o’ Lauderdale, Gin[#] he wad come and see, And he has sent back word again, Weel answered he suld[#] be. [#] if. [#] should. And he has sent a messenger Right quickly through the land, And raised mony an armed man To be at his command. The bride looked out at a high window, Beneath baith dale and down, And she was aware of her first true love, With riders mony a one. She scoffed him, and scorned him, Upon her wedding-day; And said, "It was the Fairy Court, To see him in array! "O come ye here to fight, young lord, Or come ye here to play? Or come ye here to drink good wine, Upon the wedding-day?" "I come na here to fight," he said, "I come na here to play, I’ll but lead a dance wi’ the bonny bride, And mount, and go my way." It is a glass of the blood-red wine Was filled up them between, And aye she drank to Lauderdale, Wha[#] her true love had been. [#] who. He’s taen[#] her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve; He’s mounted her hie behind himsell, At her kinsmen speired[#] na leave. [#] taken. [#] asked. "Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar! Now take her if ye may! But if you take your bride again, We’ll call it but foul play." There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys, A’ clad in the Johnstone grey; They said they would take the bride again, By the strong hand, if they may. Some o’ them were right willing men, But they were na willing a’; And four-and-twenty Leader lads Bid them mount and ride awa’. Then whingers flew frae gentles’ sides, And swords flew frae the shea’s,[#] And red and rosy was the blood Ran down the lily braes. [#] sheathes. The blood ran down by Caddon bank, And down by Caddon brae, And, sighing, said the bonnie bride— "O wae’s me for foul play." My blessing on your heart, sweet thing! Wae to your wilfu’ will! There’s mony a gallant gentleman Whae’s bluid ye have garred[#] to spill. [#] caused. Now a’ the lords of fair England, And that dwell by the English Border, Come never here to seek a wife, For fear of sic[#] disorder. [#] such. They’ll track ye up, and settle ye bye, Till on your wedding-day; Then gie ye frogs instead of fish, And play ye foul foul play. *LOCHINVAR*