A Collection of Ballads eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 146 pages of information about A Collection of Ballads.

“My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.

“My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o the holland fine,
The other o needle-work.”

The horse Fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind;
Wi siller he was shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.

Four and twanty siller bells
Wer a’ tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.

Four and twanty gay gude knichts
Rade by Fair Annet’s side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.

And whan she cam to Marie’s Kirk,
She sat on Marie’s stean: 
The cleading that Fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.

And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmerd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist
Was a’ wi pearles bedone.

She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
When Fair Annet drew near.

He had a rose into his hand,
He gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on Fair Annet’s knee.

Up then spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi meikle spite: 
“And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?”

“O I did get the rose-water
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mither’s wame.”

The bride she drew a long bodkin
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
That word spak nevir mair.

Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,
And marvelit what mote bee;
But when he saw her dear heart’s blude,
A’ wood-wroth wexed bee.

He drew his dagger that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.

“Now stay for me, dear Annet,” he sed,
“Now stay, my dear,” he cry’d;
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,
Fair Annet within the quiere,
And o the ane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.

And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil
They were twa luvers deare.

Ballad:  Fair Annie

(Child, Part III., p. 69.)

“It’s narrow, narrow, make your bed,
And learn to lie your lane: 
For I’m ga’n oer the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw bride to bring hame. 
Wi her I will get gowd and gear;
Wi you I neer got nane.

“But wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or brew my bridal ale? 
And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring oer the dale?”

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
A Collection of Ballads from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.