11 'O better I love the cup, Mary,
The cup that's in your hand,
Than all my barrels full of wine,
On the gantrees where they stand.'
12 'O woe be to your wine, father,
It eer came oer the sea!
If I getna the air o good greenwood
O I will surely dee.'
13 'There's seven maries in your bower,
There's seven o them and three,
And I'll send them to good greenwood,
For flowers to shortsome thee.'
14 'There's seven maries in my bower,
There's seven o them and three,
But there's nae a mary mang them a'
Can pu flowers to shortsome me:'
'Then by my sooth,' said her father dear,
'Let yoursel gang them wi.'
15 She dressd hersel in the royal red,
Love Robbie was in dainty green;
Love Robbie's brand was about his middle,
And he shone like ony queen.
16 The firsten ane that took the floor,
Love Robbie was that ane:
'Now by my sooth,' said the proud porter,
'She is a sonsie dame;
I would not care now very much
To turn her in again.'
17 'I'd fain see any woman or man,
Of high or low degree,
Would turn a mary in again
That once came out with me.'
18 They had not been in good greenwood,
Pu'd a flower but only three,
Till the porter stood behind a bush,
And shot him Love Robbie.
19 Now word has come to her father dear,
In the chamber where he lay,
Lady Mary's sick in good greenwood,
And cannot come away.
20 He's taen his mantle him about,
His cane into his han,
And he is on to good greenwood,
As fast as he could gang.