9 Long stood she at her true-love's door,
An lang tirld at the pin;
At length up gat his fa'se mither,
Says, Wha's that woud be in?
10 'O it is Anny of Roch-royal,
Your love, come oer the sea,
But an your young son in her arms;
So open the door to me.'
11 'Awa, awa, you ill woman,
You've na come here for gude,
You're but a witch, or wile warlock,
Or mermaid o the flude.'
12 'I'm na a witch, or wile warlock,
Nor mermaiden,' said she;
'I'm but Fair Anny o Roch-royal;
O open the door to me.'
13 'O gin ye be Anny o Roch-royal,
As [I] trust not ye be,
What taiken can ye gie that ever
I kept your company?'
14 'O dinna ye mind, Love Gregor,' she says,
'Whan we sat at the wine,
How we changed the napkins frae our necks,
It's na sae lang sin syne?
15 'An yours was good, an good enough,
But nae sae good as mine;
For yours was o the cumbruk clear,
But mine was silk sae fine.
16 'An dinna ye mind, Love Gregor,' she says,
'As we twa sat at dine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers,
But ay the best was mine?
17 'For yours was good, an good enough,
Yet nae sae good as mine;
For yours was of the good red gold,
But mine o the diamonds fine.
18 'Sae open the door now, Love Gregor,
An open it wi speed,
Or your young son that is in my arms
For cauld will soon be dead.'