‘Mickle is the men’s blood I have spent To doe thee and me some good’; Sayes, ‘Ever alacke, my fayre lady, I thinke that I was woode[372]!’ XXXI And he shope[373] the cross on his right sho’lder Of the white flesh and the redd, And he went him into the Holy Land, Wheras Christ was quicke and deade. FOOTNOTES: [362] unbethought = bethought. [363] ding = smite. [364] sikt = sighed. [365] againe = in return. [366] deemèd = doomed. [367] thye = thrive. [368] palle = fine cloth. [369] ginne = gin, contrivance, here a door-latch. [370] quicke = alive. [371] hart-roote = heart-root, dear one. [372] woode = mad. [373] shope = shaped, made. _54. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_ I Lord Thomas and Fair Annet Sat all day on a hill; When night was come, and sun was set, They had not talk’d their fill. II Lord Thomas said a word in jest, Fair Annet took it ill: ‘I’ll never wed a tocherless[374] maid Against my ain friends’ will.’-- III ‘Gif ye’ll not wed a tocherless wife, A wife will ne’er wed ye: Fare ye well now, Lord Thomas, It’s fare ye well a wee.’ IV O Annet she’s gane till her bower, Lord Thomas down the den; And he’s come till his mither’s bower By the lee[375] light o’ the moon. V ‘O sleep ye, wake ye, mither?’ he says, ‘Or are ye the bower within?’-- ‘I sleep right aft, I wake right aft; What want ye with me, son? VI ‘Where have ye been a’ night, Thomas? O wow, ye’ve tarried long!’-- ‘I have been courtin’ Fair Annet, And she is frae me gone. VII ‘O rede[376], O rede, mither,’ he says, ‘A gude rede gie to me: O sall I tak’ the nut-brown bride, And let Fair Annet be?’-- VIII ‘The nut-brown bride has gold and gear, Fair Annet she’s got nane; And the little beauty Fair Annet has O it will soon be gane. IX ‘It’s an’ ye wed the nut-brown bride, I’ll heap gold wi’ my hand; But an’ ye wed her, Fair Annet, I’ll straik[377] it wi’ a wand. X ‘The nut-brown bride has sheep and kye, Fair Annet she’s got nane; Son Thomas, for my benison Bring ye the brown bride hame.’-- XI ‘But alas, alas!’ says Lord Thomas, ‘O fair is Annet’s face!’-- ‘But what matter for that, son Thomas? She has nae ither grace.’-- XII ‘Alas, alas!’ says Lord Thomas, ‘But white is Annet’s hand!’-- ‘What matter for that, son Thomas? She has not a fur’[378] o’ land.’-- XIII ‘Sheep will die in cots, mither, And owsen[379] die in byre; And what is warldis wealth to me, An’ I getna my heart’s desire?’ XIV And he has till his sister gane: ‘Now, sister, rede ye me; O sall I marry the nut-brown bride And set Fair Annet free?’-- XV