A
Herd’s MSS, I, 148.
1
Our king he has a secret to tell,
And ay well keepit it must be:
The English lords are coming down
To dance and win the victory.
2
Our king has cry’d a noble cry,
And ay well keepit it must be:
‘Gar saddle ye, and bring to me
The bonny lass of Anglesey.’
3
Up she starts, as white as the milk,
Between him and his company:
What is the thing I hae to ask,
If I sould win the victory?’
4
‘Fifteen ploughs but and a mill
I gie thee till the day thou die,
And the fairest knight in a’ my court
To chuse thy husband for to be.’
5
She’s taen the fifteen lord by the hand,
Saying, ‘Will ye come dance with me?’
But on the morn at ten o’clock
They gave it oer most shamefully.
6
Up then rais the fifteenth lord—
I wat an angry man was he—
Laid by frae him his belt and sword,
And to the floor gaed manfully.
7
He said, ‘My feet shall be my dead
Before she win the victory;’
But before ’twas ten o’clock at night
He gaed it oer as shamefully.