1 Lord Thomas stands in his stable-door,
Seeing his steeds kaimd down;
Lady Ellen sits at her bower-door,
Sewing her silver seam.
2 'O will ye stay at hame, Ellen,
And sew your silver seam?
Or will ye to the rank highlands?
For my lands lay far frae hame.'
3 'I winna stay at hame, Lord Thomas,
And sew my silver seam;
But I'll gae to the rank highlands,
Tho your lands lay far frae hame.'
* * * * *
4 'An asking, an asking, Lord Thomas,
I pray thee grant it me;
How many miles into your fair tower,
And house where you would be?'
5 'Your asking fair, Lady Ellen,' he says,
'Shall now be granted thee;
For to my castle where it stands
Is thirty miles and three:'
'O wae is me,' says Lady Ellen,
'It will never be run by me.'
6 But up and spak the wily pyot,
That sat upon the tree:
'Sae loud, sae loud, ye fause, fause knight,
Sae loud as I hear you lie!
7 'For to your dwelling-house,' it says,
'Of miles it's scantly three:'
'O weel is me,' says Lady Ellen;
'It shall be run by me.'
* * * * *
8 'O mither, mither, mak my bed,
And mak it braid and wide,
And lay my little page at my feet,
Whatever may betide.'