12 He louted him oer his saddle bow, To kiss her cheek and chin; She 's taen him in her arms twa, An thrown him headlong in. 13 'Since seven king's daughters ye 've drowned there, In the water o Wearie's Well, I'll make you bridegroom to them a', An ring the bell mysell.' 14 And aye she warsled, and aye she swam, And she swam to dry lan; She thanked God most cheerfully The dangers she oercame. C #a.# Herd's MSS, I, 166. #b.# Herd's Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 93. #c.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 67, == #b# "collated with a copy obtained from recitation." 1 False Sir John a wooing came To a maid of beauty fair; May Colven was this lady's name, Her father's only heir. 2 He wood her butt, he wood her ben, He wood her in the ha, Until he got this lady's consent To mount and ride awa. 3 He went down to her father's bower, Where all the steeds did stand, And he 's taken one of the best steeds That was in her father's land. 4 He 's got on and she 's got on, And fast as they could flee, Until they came to a lonesome part, A rock by the side of the sea. 5 'Loup off the steed,' says false Sir John, 'Your bridal bed you see; For I have drowned seven young ladies, The eight one you shall be. 6 'Cast off, cast off, my May Colven, All and your silken gown, For it 's oer good and oer costly To rot in the salt sea foam. 7 'Cast off, cast off, my May Colven, All and your embroiderd shoen, For they 're oer good and oer costly To rot in the salt sea foam.' 8 'O turn you about, O false Sir John, And look to the leaf of the tree, For it never became a gentleman A naked woman to see.' 9 He turnd himself straight round about, To look to the leaf of the tree; So swift as May Colven was To throw him in the sea. 10 'O help, O help, my May Colven, O help, or else I'll drown; I'll take you home to your father's bower, And set you down safe and sound.' 11 'No help, no help, O false Sir John, No help, nor pity thee; Tho seven king's-daughters you have drownd, But the eight shall not be me.' 12 So she went on her father's steed, As swift as she could flee, And she came home to her father's bower Before it was break of day. 13 Up then and spoke the pretty parrot: 'May Colven, where have you been? What has become of false Sir John, That woo'd you so late the streen? 14 'He woo'd you butt, he woo'd you ben, He woo'd you in the ha, Until he got your own consent For to mount and gang awa.'