1 There livd a lord on yon sea-side,
And he thought on a wile,
How he would go over the saut sea
A lady to beguile.
2 'O learn to mak your bed, Helen,
And learn to ly your lane,
For I'm gaun over the saut seas
A bright bride to bring hame.'
3 'How can I mak my bed,' she says,
'Unless I mak it wide,
Whan I have seven o your sons
To lie down by my side?
4 'And the first o your seven sons,
He rides a milk-white steed;
The second o your seven sons
He wears a milk-white weed.
5 'The third ane o your seven sons,
He draws baith ale and wine;
The fourth ane o your seven sons,
He serves you when you dine.
6 'The fifth ane o your seven sons,
He can baith read and write;
And the sixth ane o your seven sons,
He is a' your heart's delight.
7 'And the youngest o your seven sons,
He sleeps on my breast-bane;
Whan him and I ly down at night,
For him rest get I nane.'
8 'O wha will bake my bridal bread,
And brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my gae lady,
That I bring oer the dale?
9 'And sin ye've taen the turn in hand,
See that ye do it right,
And ilka chimly o the house,
That they be dearly dight.'
10 O a' the day she washd and wrang,
And a' the night she buik,
And she's awa to her chamber,
To gie her young son suck.