14 She has taen out the coup of gold, Lead it belou her head, An she wish it we the tears ran doun fra her eays, An or midnight she was dead. 15 She has tean out the coup of gold, Laid it belou her hear, An she wish it we the tears ran don fra her eays, An alass! spak never mare. C Sharpe’s Ballad Book, No 4, p. 12, as sung by Mary Johnston, dairy maid at Hoddam Castle. 1 There was a king, and a glorious king, And a king of mickle fame, And he had daughters only one, Lady Dysmal was her name. 2 He had a boy, and a kitchen-boy, A boy of mickle scorn, And she lovd him lang, and she loved him aye, Till the grass oergrew the corn. 3 When twenty weeks were gone and past, O she began to greet! Her petticoat grew short before, And her stays they wadna meet. 4 It fell upon a winter’s night The king could get nae rest; He cam unto his daughter dear, Just like a wandring ghaist. 5 He cam into her bed-chalmer, And drew the curtains round: ‘What aileth thee, my daughter dear? I fear you’ve gotten wrong.’ 6 ‘O if I have, despise me not, For he is all my joy; I will forsake baith dukes and earls, And marry your kitchen-boy.’ 7 ‘Go call to me my merry men all, By thirty and by three; Go call to me my kitchen-boy, We’ll murder him secretlie.’ 8 There was nae din that could be heard, And neer a word was said, Till they got him baith fast and sure Between twa feather-beds. 9 ‘Go cut the heart out of his breast, And put it in a cup of gold, And present it to his Dysmal dear, For she is baith stout and bold.’ 10 They’ve cut the heart out of his breast, And put it in a cup of gold, And presented it to his Dysmal dear, Who was baith stout and bold. 11 ‘O come to me, my hinney, my heart, O come to me, my joy! O come to me, my hinney, my heart My father’s kitchen-boy!’ 12 She’s taen the cup out of their hands, And set it at her bed-head; She washd it wi the tears that fell from her eyes, And next morning she was dead. 13 ‘O where were ye, my merry men all, Whom I paid meat and wage, Ye didna hold my cruel hand When I was in my rage? 14 ‘For gone is a’ my heart’s delight, And gone is a’ my joy; For my dear Dysmal she is dead, And so is my kitchen-boy.’ D Buchan’s MSS, II, 164. 1 There was a king, and a curious king, And a king of royal fame, He had ae daughter, he had never mair, Lady Diamond was her name. 2 She’s fa’en into shame, and lost her good name, And wrought her parents ’noy; And a’ for her layen her love so low, On her father’s kitchen-boy.