"What news, what news, ye bonny boy?
What news hae ye to me?50
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
"O are my ladie's fauldis brunt,
Or are her towers won?
Or is my Maisery lichter yet
O' a dear dochter or son?"
"Your ladie's faulds are neither brunt,55
Nor are her towers won;
Nor is your Maisery lichter yet
O' a dear dochter or son:
"But she bids you, and she prays you baith,
Gin ony prayer can dee,60
To Mary Kirk to come the morn,
Her weary wadding to see."
He dang the buird up wi' his fit,
Sae did he wi' his knee;
The silver cup, that was upon't,65
I' the fire he gar'd it flee:
"O whatten a lord in a' Scotland
Dare marry my Maisery?
"O it is but a feeble thocht,
To tell the tane and nae the tither;70
O it is but a feeble thocht
To tell it's your ain mither's brither."
"Its I will send to that wadding,
And I will follow syne,
The fitches o' the fallow deer,75
And the gammons o' the swine;
And the nine hides o' the noble cow—
'Twas slain in season time.
"Its I will send to that wadding
Ten tun o' the red wine;80
And mair I'll send to that waddin',
And I will follow syne."
Whan he came in into the ha',
Lady Maisery she did ween;
And twenty times he kist her mou',85
Afore auld Ingram's een.