Willie stands in his stable,
A-clapping of his steed;
And over his white fingers
His nose began to bleed.
"Gie corn to my horse, mither;
Gie meat unto my man;
For I maun gang to Margaret's bower,
Before the night comes on."
"O stay at home, my son Willie!
The wind blaws cold and stour;
The night will be baith mirk and late,
Before ye reach her bower."
"O tho' the night were ever sae dark,
O the wind blew never sae cauld,
I will be in May Margaret's bower
Before twa hours be tauld."
"O bide this night wi' me, Willie,
O bide this night wi' me!
The bestan fowl in a' the roost
At your supper, my son, shall be."
"A' your fowls, and a' your roosts,
I value not a pin;
I only care for May Margaret;
And ere night to her bower I'll win."
"O an ye gang to May Margaret
Sae sair against my will,
In the deepest pot o' Clyde's water
My malison ye's feel!"
He mounted on his coal-black steed,
And fast he rade awa';
But ere he came to Clyde's water
Fu' loud the wind did blaw.
As he rade over yon hie hie hill,
And doun yon dowie den,
There was a roar in Clyde's water
Wad feared a hundred men.
But Willie has swam through Clyde's water,
Though it was wide and deep;
And he came to May Margaret's door
When a' were fast asleep.