No: 173; variant: 173J
- My mother was a proud, proud woman,
A proud, proud woman and a bold;
She sent me to Queen Marie’s bour,
When scarcely eleven years old.
- Queen Marie’s bread it was sae sweet,
An her wine it was sae fine,
That I hae lien in a young man’s arms,
An I rued it aye synsyne.
- Queen Marie she cam doon the stair,
Wi the goud kamis in her hair:
‘Oh whare oh whare is the wee wee babe
I heard greetin sae sair?’
- ‘It’s no a babe, a babie fair,
Nor ever intends to be;
But I mysel, wi a sair colic,
Was seek and like to dee.’
- They socht the bed baith up an doon,
Frae the pillow to the straw,
An there they got the wee wee babe,
But its life was far awa.
- ‘Come doon, come doon, Marie Hamilton,
Come doon and speak to me;
. . . .
. . . .
- ‘You’ll no put on your dowie black,
Nor yet your dowie broun;
But you’ll put on your ried, ried silk,
To shine through Edinborough toun.’
- ‘Yestreen the queen had four Maries,
The nicht she’ll hae but three;
There was Marie Bethune, an Marie Seaton,
An Marie Carmichael, an me.
- ‘Ah, little did my mother ken,
The day she cradled me,
The lands that I sud travel in,
An the death that I suld dee.’
- Yestreen the queen had four Maries,
The nicht she has but three;
For the bonniest Marie amang them a’
Was hanged upon a tree.