14 Then out it spake the proud porter—
Our lady wishd him shame—
We'll send the marys to the wood,
But we'll keep our lady at hame.'
15 'There's thirty marys i my bowr,
There's thirty o them an three;
But there's nae ane amo them a'
Kens what flowr gains for me.'
16 She's doen her to her bigly bowr,
As fast as she could gang,
An she has dresst him Brown Robin
Like ony bowr-woman.
17 The gown she pat upon her love
Was o the dainty green,
His hose was o the saft, saft silk,
His shoon o the cordwain fine.
18 She's pitten his bow in her bosom,
His arrow in her sleeve,
His sturdy bran her body next,
Because he was her love.
19 Then she is unto her bowr-door,
As fast as she coud gang;
But out it spake the proud porter—
Our lady wishd him shame—
We'll count our marys to the wood,
An we'll count them back again.'
20 The firsten mary she sent out
Was Brown Robin by name;
Then out it spake the king himsel,
'This is a sturdy dame.'
21 O she went out in a May morning,
In a May morning so gay,
But she came never back again,
Her auld father to see.
B
Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 136, from the recitation of an old woman in Buckie, Enzie, Banffshire.