1 LORD THOMAS and Fair Annet Sate a' day on a hill;

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Whau night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.

2 Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
Fair Annet took it ill:
'A, I will nevir wed a wife.
Against my ain friends' will.'

3 'Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee:'
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.

4 'O rede, O rede, mither,' he says,
A gude rede gie to mee;

O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let Faire Annet bee?'

7 The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, The nut-browne bride has kye;

I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,

And cast Fair Annet bye.'

8 'Her oxen may dye i the house, billie,
And her kye into the byre,2
And I sall hae nothing to mysell
Bot a fat fadge3 by the fyre.'

9 And he has till his sister gane:

'Now, sister, rede ye mee;

O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set Fair Annet free?'

10 'I 'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, "Alace,
What is this we brought hame!""

11 'No, I will tak my mither's counsel,
And marrie me owt o hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride,
Fair Annet may leive the land.'

12 Up then rose Fair Annet's father,
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower
Wherein Fair Annet lay.

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40

60

24 The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough, And dashd the boat on shore;

Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
But her young son raise no more.

25 Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,

And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
But his bonny young son was gone.

26 O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair,
But clay cold were her rosey lips,
Nae spark of life was there.

27 And first he 's kissd her cherry cheek,
And neist he's kissed her chin;
And saftly pressed her rosey lips,
But there was nae breath within.

28 'O wae betide my cruel mother,

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SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST

1 WHAN bells war rung, an mass was

sung,

A wat a' man 2 to bed were gone, Clark Sanders came to Margret's window,

With mony a sad sigh and groan.

2 'Are ye sleeping, Margret,' he says,
'Or are ye waking, presentlie?
Give me my faith and trouthe again,
A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.'

3 Your faith and trouth ye's never get,
Nor our trew love shall never twain,8
Till ye come with me in my bower,
And kiss me both cheek and chin.'

4 'My mouth it is full cold, Margret,
It has the smell now of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
Thy life-days will not be long.

II

A wat the wilde foule boded day; 30 The salms of Heaven will be sung, And ere now I 'le be misst away.'

9 Up she has tain a bright long wand, And she has straked her trouth thereon; She has given (it) him out at the shotwindow,

Wi many a sad sigh and heavy groan. Surely all men. 3 part. 4 A doubtful word. stroked, i.e., transferred it to the wand.

fowl.