# The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 2/Chapter 52

A
THE king's young dochter was sitting in her window, Sewing at her silken seam; She lookt out o the bow-window, And she saw the leaves growing green, my luve, And she saw the leaves growing green. She stuck her needle into her sleeve, Her seam down by her tae, And she is awa to the merrie green-wood, To pu the nit and slae. She hadna pu't a nit at a', A nit but scarcely three, Till out and spak a braw young man, Saying, How daur ye bow the tree? 'It's I will pu the nit,' she said, 'And I will bow the tree, And I will come to the merrie green wud, And na ax leive o thee.' He took her by the middle sae sma, And laid her on the gerss sae green, And he has taen his will o her, And he loot her up agen. 'Now syn ye hae got your will o me, Pray tell to me your name; For I am the king's young dochter,' she said, 'And this nicht I daurna gang hame.' 'Gif ye be the king's dochter,' he said, 'I am his auldest son; I wish I had died on some frem isle, And never had come hame! 'The first time I came hame, Jeanie, Thou was na here nor born; I wish my pretty ship had sunk, And I had been forlorn! 'The neist time I came hame, Jeanie, Thou was sittin on the nourice knee; And I wish my pretty ship had sunk, And I had never seen thee! 'And the neist time I came hame, Jeanie, I met thee here alane; I wish my pretty ship had sunk, And I had neer come hame!' She put her hand down by her side, And doun into her spare, And she pou't out a wee pen-knife, And she wounded hersell fu sair. Hooly, hooly rase she up, And hooly she gade hame, Until she came to her father's parlour, And there she did sick and mane. 'O sister, sister, mak my bed, O the clean sheets and strae, O sister, sister, mak my bed, Down in the parlour below.' Her father he came tripping down the stair, His steps they were fu slow; 'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' he said, 'Ye're lying far ower low.' 'O late yestreen, as I came hame, Down by yon castil wa, O heavy, heavy was the stane That on my briest did fa!' Her mother she came tripping doun the stair, Her steps they were fu slow; 'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said, 'Ye're lying far ower low.' 'O late yestreen, as I cam hame, Down by yon castil wa, O heavy, heavy was the stane That on my breast did fa!' Her sister came tripping doun the stair, Her steps they were fu slow; 'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said, 'Ye're lying far ower low.' 'O late yestreen, as I cam hame, Doun by yon castil wa, O heavy, heavy was the stane That on my breast did fa!' Her brither he cam trippin doun the stair, His steps they were fu slow; He sank into his sister's arms, And they died as white as snaw.
B
LADY MARGARET sits in her bow-window, Sewing her silken seam; . . . . . . . . . . . She's drapt the thimble at her tae, And her scissars at her heel, And she's awa to the merry green-wood, To see the leaves grow green. She had scarsely bowed a branch, Or plucked a nut frae the tree, Till up and starts a fair young man, And a fair young man was he. 'How dare ye shake the leaves?' he said, 'How dare ye break the tree? How dare ye pluck the nuts,' he said, 'Without the leave of me?' . . . . . . . . . . . 'Oh I know the merry green wood's my ain, And I'll ask the leave of nane.' He gript her by the middle sae sma, He gently sat her down, While the grass grew up on every side, And the apple trees hang down. She says, Young man, what is your name? For ye've brought me to meikle shame; For I am the king's youngest daughter, And how shall I gae hame? 'If you're the king's youngest daughter, It's I'm his auldest son, And heavy heavy is the deed, sister, That you and I have done.' He had a penknife in his hand, Hang low down by his gair, And between the long rib and the short one He woundit her deep and sair. . . . . . . . . . . . And fast and fast her ruddy bright blood Fell drapping on the ground. She took the glove off her right hand, And slowly slipt it in the wound, And slowly has she risen up, And slowly slipped home.
'O sister dear, when thou gaes hame Unto thy father's ha, It's make my bed baith braid and lang, Wi the sheets as white as snaw.'
'When I came by the high church-yard Heavy was the stain that bruised my heel, . . . . . . . that bruised my heart, I'm afraid it shall neer heal.'
C
AS Annie sat into her bower, A thought came in her head, That she would gang to gude greenwood, Across the flowery mead. She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower, Nor broken a branch but twa, Till by it came a gentle squire, Says, Lady, come awa. There's nane that comes to gude greenwood But pays to me a tein, And I maun hae your maidenhead, Or than your mantle green. 'My mantle's o the finest silk, Anither I can spin; But gin you take my maidenhead, The like I'll never fin.' He's taen her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve, There laid her low in gude greenwood, And at her spierd nae leave. When he had got his wills o her, His wills as he had taen, She said, If you rightly knew my birth, Ye'd better letten alane. 'Is your father a lord o might? Or baron o high degree? Or what race are ye sprung frae, That I should lat ye be?' 'O I am Castle Ha's daughter, O birth and high degree, And if he knows what ye hae done, He'll hang you on a tree.' 'If ye be Castle Ha's daughter, This day I am undone; If ye be Castle Ha's daughter, I am his only son.' 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jelly hind squire, Sae loud as I hear you lie, Castle Ha, he has but ae dear son, And he is far beyond the sea.' 'O I am Castle Ha's dear son, A word I dinna lie; Yes, I am Castle Ha's dear son, And new come oer the sea. ''Twas yesterday, that fatal day, That I did cross the faem; I wish my bonny ship had sunk, And I had neer come hame.' Then dowie, dowie, raise she up, And dowie came she hame, And stripped aff her silk mantle, And then to bed she's gane. Then in it came her mother dear, And she steps in the fleer: 'Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here?' 'This morning fair, as I went out, Near by yon castle wa, Great and heavy was the stane That on my foot did fa.' 'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers, Towers, or mony a town? Will not these cure your bonny foot, Gar you gae hale and soun?' 'Ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers, And towers, and mony a town, But nought will cure my bonny foot, Gar me gang hale and soun.' Then in it came her father dear, And he trips in the fleer: 'Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here?' 'This morning fair, as I went out, Near by yon castle wa, Great and heavy was the stane That on my foot did fa.' 'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers, And towers, and mony a town? Will not these cure your bonny foot, Gar you gang hale and soun?' 'O ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers, And towers, and mony a town, But nought will cure my bonny foot, Gar me gang hale and soun.' Then in it came her sister Grace; As she steps in the fleer, 'Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here? 'Win up, and see your ae brother, That's new come ower the sea;' 'Ohon, alas!' says fair Annie, 'He spake ower soon wi me.' To her room her brother's gane, Stroked back her yellow hair, To her lips his ain did press, But words spake never mair.
D
THE lady's taen her mantle her middle about, Into the woods she's gane, . . . . . . . . . . . She hadna poud a flower o gude green-wood, O never a flower but ane, Till by he comes, an by he gangs, Says, Lady, lat alane. For I am forester o this wood, And I hae power to pine Your mantle or your maidenhead, Which o the twa ye'll twine. 'My mantle is o gude green silk, Another I can card an spin; But gin ye tak my maidenhead, The like I'll never fin.' He's taen her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve, And laid her low at the foot o a tree, At her high kin spierd nae leave. 'I am bold Burnet's ae daughter, You might hae lat me be:' 'And I'm bold Burnet's ae dear son, Then dear! how can this dee?' 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jolly hind squire, So loud's I hear you lie! Bold Burnet has but ae dear son, He's sailing on the sea.' 'Yesterday, about this same time, My bonny ship came to land; I wish she'd sunken in the sea, And never seen the strand! 'Heal well this deed on me, lady, Heal well this deed on me!' 'Although I would heal it neer sae well, Our God above does see.' She's taen her mantle her middle about, And mourning went she hame, And a' the way she sighd full sair, Crying, Am I to blame! Ben it came her father dear, Stout stepping on the flear: 'Win up, win up, my daughter Janet, And welcome your brother here.' Up she's taen her milk-white hand, Streakd by his yellow hair, Then turnd about her bonny face, And word spake never mair.