3 'O how can I look maiden-like,
When a maid I'll never be;
When seven brave sons I've born to thee,
And the eighth is in my bodie?
4 'The eldest of your sons, my lord,
Wi red gold shines his weed;
The second of your sons, my lord,
Rides on a milk-white steed.
5 'And the third of your sons, my lord,
He draws your beer and wine,
And the fourth of your sons, my lord,
Can serve you when you dine.
6 'And the fift of your sons, my lord,
He can both read and write,
And the sixth of your sons, my lord,
Can do it maist perfyte.
7 'And the sevent of your sons, my lord,
Sits on the nurse's knee;
And how can I look maiden-like,
When a maid I'll never be?
8 'But wha will bake your wedding bread,
And brew your bridal ale?
Or wha will welcome your brisk bride,
That you bring owre the dale?'
9 'I'll put cooks in my kitchen,
And stewards in my hall,
And I'll have bakers for my bread,
And brewers for my ale;
But you're to welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring owre the dale.'
10 He set his fut into his ship,
And his cock-boat on the main;
He swore it would be year and day
Or he returned again.
11 When year and day was past and gane,
Fair Annie she thocht lang,
And she is up to her bower-head,
To behold both sea and land.
12 'Come up, come up, my eldest son,
And see now what you see;
O yonder comes your father dear,
And your stepmother-to-be.'