Now she has kilted her robes o' green
A piece below her knee,
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corp followed she.
"Is there any room at your head, Willie,
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?"
"There's nae room at my head, Margret,
There's nae room at my feet;