"O what need I dress up my head,
Nor what need I kaim doun my hair,
Whan my gude lord has forsaken me,
And says he will na love me mair!
"But O! an my young babe was born,10
And set upon some nourice knee,
And I mysel war dead and gane,—
For a maid again I'll never be."—
"Na mair o' this, my dochter dear,
And of your mourning let abee;15
For a bill of divorce I'll gar write for him,
A mair better lord I'll get for thee."
"Na mair o' this, my father dear,
And of your folly let abee;
For I wad na gie ae look o' my lord's face,20
For a' the lords in the haill countrie.
"But I'll cast off my robes o' red,
And I'll put on my robes o' blue;
And I will travel to some other land,
To see gin my love will on me rue.25
"There sall na wash come on my face,
There sall na kaim come on my hair;
There sall neither coal nor candle licht
Be seen intil my bouer na mair.
"O! wae be to thee Blackwood,30
And an ill death may ye die,
For ye've been the haill occasion
Of parting my lord and me."