It was about the midnight hour,
      When they asleep were laid,
    When in and cam her seven brothers,
      Wi’ torches burning red.

    When in and cam her seven brothers,
      Wi’ torches burning bright;
    They said, “We hae but ae sister,
      And behold she’s wi’ a knight.”

    Then out and spak the first o’ them,
      “We’ll awa’ and lat them be.” 
    And out and spak the second o’ them,
      “His father has nae mair than he!”

    And out and spak the third o’ them,
      “I wot they are lovers dear!”
    And out and spak the fourth o’ them,
      “They hae lo’ed this mony a year!”

    Then out and spak the fifth o’ them,
      “It were sin true love to twain!”
    “‘Twere shame,” out spak the sixth o’ them,
      “To slay a sleeping man!”

    Then up and gat the seventh o’ them,
      And never a word spak he;
    But he has striped his bright brown brand
      Through Saunders’ fair bodie.

    Clerk Saunders started, and Margaret she turned,
      Into his arms as asleep she lay;
    And sad and silent was the night,
      That was atween thir twae.

    And they lay still and sleepit sound,
      Till the day began to daw;
    And kindly to him she did say,
      “It is time, love, you were awa’.”

    But he lay still, and sleepit sound,
      Till the sun began to sheen;
    She looked atween her and the wa’,
      And dull, dull were his een.

    She turned the blankets to the foot,
      The sheets unto the wa’,
    And there she saw his bloody wound,
      And her tears fast doun did fa’.

    Then in and cam her father dear,
      Said, “Let a’ your mournin’ be;
    I’ll carry the dead corpse to the clay
      And then come back and comfort thee.

    “Hold your tongue, my daughter dear,
      And let your mourning be;
    I’ll wed you to a higher match
      Than his father’s son could be.”

    “Gae comfort weel your seven sons, father,
      For man sall ne’er comfort me;
    Ye’ll marry me wi’ the Queen o’ Heaven,
      For wedded I ne’er sall be!”

    The clinking bell gaed through the toun,
      To carry the dead corse to the clay;
    And Clerk Saunders stood at Margaret’s window,
      ’Twas an hour before the day.

    “O’are ye sleeping, Margaret?” he says,
      “Or are ye waking presentlie? 
    Gie me my faith and troth again,
      I wot, true love, I gied to thee.

    “I canna rest, Margaret,” he says,
      “Doun in the grave where I must be,
    Till ye gie me my faith and troth again,
      I wot, true love, I gied to thee.”

    “Your faith and troth ye sall never get,
      Nor our true love sall never twin,
    Until ye come within my bower,
      And kiss me cheek and chin.”