In Lauderdale I chanc'd to walk,
And heard a lady's moan,
Lamenting for her dearest dear,
And aye she cried, ohon!
"Sure never a maid that e'er drew breath5
Had harder fate than me;
I'd never a lad but one on earth,
They forc'd him to the sea.
"The ale shall ne'er be brewin o' malt,
Neither by sea nor land,10
That ever mair shall cross my hause,
Till my love comes to hand.
A handsome lad wi' shoulders broad,
Gold yellow was his hair;
None of our Scottish youths on earth15
That with him could compare.
She thought her love was gone to sea,
And landed in Bahome;
But he was in a quiet chamber,
Hearing his lady's moan.20
"Why make ye all this moan, lady?
Why make ye all this moan?
For I'm deep sworn on a book,
I must go to Bahome.
"Traitors false for to subdue,25
O'er seas I'll make me boun',
That have trepan'd our kind Scotchmen,
Like dogs to ding them down."
"Weell, take this ring, this royal thing,
Whose virtue is unknown;30
As lang's this ring's your body on,
Your blood shall ne'er be drawn.
"But if this ring shall fade or stain,
Or change to other hue,
Come never mair to fair Scotland,35
If ye're a lover true."