Her horse was o the dapple-gray,
And in her hands she held bells nine:
‘Harp and carp, Thomas,’ she said,
‘For a’ thae bonny bells shall be thine.’
It was a night without delight,
And they rade on and on, I wiss, (amiss)
Till they came to a garden green;
He reached his hand to pu an apple,
For lack o fruit he was like to tyne.
‘Now had your hand, Thomas,’ she said,