[Legendary Ballads of Scotland]
[This popular and amusing ballad is reprinted from Mr. Jamieson's text, with a few variations supplied by Mr. Kirloch to previous editors.
The Laird O' Roslin's daughter,
Walked thro' the wood her lane;
And by cam Captain Wedderburn,
A servant to the king,
He said unto his serving man,
"Were't not against the law,
I wad tak her to my ain bed,
And lay her neist the wa',"
"I am walking here alane", she says,
"Amang my father's trees;
And you must let me walk alane,
Kind sir, now, if you please;
The supper bell it will be rung,
And I'll be mist awa:
Sae I winna lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."
He says, "My pretty lady,
I pray, lend me your hand,
And ye'll hae drums and trumpets
Always at your command;
And fifty men to guard you wi',
That well their swords can draw;
Sae we'se baith lie in ae bed,
And ye'se lie neist the wa'."
"Hand a wa frae me", she said,
"And pray let gae my hand;
The supper bell it will be rung,
I can nae langer stand;
My father he will angry be,
Gin I be mist awa;
Sae I'll nae lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."
Then said the pretty lady,
"I pray tell me your name ?"
"My name is Captain Wedderburn,
A servant to the king:
Though thy father and his men were here,
O' them I'd have nae awe;
But wad tak you to my ain bed,
And lay you neist the wa'."
He lichtit aff his berry brown steed,
And set this lady on;
And held her by the milk-white hand,
Even as they rade alang.
He held her by the middle jimp,
For fear that she should fa',
To tak her to his ain bed,
And lay her neist the wa'."
He took her to his lodging-house;
His landlady lookit ben;
Says, "Mony a pretty lady,
In Edinbruch I've seen;
But sic a lovely face as thine
In it I never saw;
Gae mak her down a down-bed,
And lay her at the wa ";"
"O haud awa frae me," she says,
"I pray you let me be;
I winna gang into your bed,
Till ye dress me dishes three:
Dishes three ye maun dress me,
Gin I should eat them a';
Afore I lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."
"It's ye maun get to my supper
A cherry without a stane;
And ye maun get to my supper
A chicken without a bane;
And ye maun get to my supper
A bird without a ga';
Or I winna lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."
"Its when the cherry is in the blume,
I'm sure it has nae stane;
And when the chicken's in the egg,
I wat it has nae bane;
And, sin' the flood o'Noah,
The doo she has nae ga';
Sae we'll baith lie in ae bed,
And ye'se lie neist the wa'."
"O hand thy tongue, young man", she says.
Nor that gate we perplex;
For ye maun tell me questions yet,
And that is questions six:
Questions six ye'll tell to me,
And that is three times twa,
Afore I lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."
"What's greener than the greenest grass?
What's higher than the trees?
What's waur nor an ill woman's wish?
What's deeper than the seas?
What bird sings first? and whereupon
First doth the dew down fa' ?
Ye sall tell afore I lay me down.
Between you and the wa'."
"Vergris is greener than the grass;
Heaven's higher than the trees;
The deils waur nor a woman's wish,
Hell's deeper than the seas;
The cock craws first; on cedar tap
The dew down first doth fa';
Sae we'll both lie in ae bed,
And ye'se lie neist the wa"."
"O haud your tongue, young man", she says,
"And gie your fleechin ower
Unless ye find me ferlies,
And that is ferlies four;
Ferlies four ye maun find me,
And that is twa and twa;
Or I'll never lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."
"It's ye maun get to me a plum,
That in December grew;
And ye maun get a silk mantel,
That waft was ne'er ca'd through;
A sparrow's horn; a priest unborn,
This night to join us twa;
Or I'll nae lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."
"My father he has winter fruit,
That in Decem her grew;
My mother has an Indian gown,
That waft was ne'er ca'd through;
A sparrow's horn is quickly found;
There's ane on every claw;
And twa upon the neb o'him;
And ye shal1 get them a'.
The priest, he's standing at the door,
Just really to come in;
Nae man can say that he was born,
Nae man, unless he sin;
A wild boar tore his mother's side,
He out of it did fa';
So we'll baith lie in ae bed.
And ye'll lie neist the wa'."
Little kenn'd Girzle Sinclair,
That morning when she raise,
That it wad be the lattermost
O' a' her maiden days.
But now there's no within the realm,
I think, a blyther twa;
And they baith lie in ae bed,
And she lies neist the wa '.