No: 204; variant: 204E
- I LAY sick, and very sick,
And I was bad, and like to dee;
. . . .
A friend o mine cam to visit me,
And Blackwood whisperd in my lord’s ear
That he was oure lang in chamber wi me.
- ‘O what need I dress up my head,
Nor what need I caim doun my hair,
Whan my gude lord has forsaken me,
And says he will na love me mair!
- ‘But oh, an my young babe was born,
And set upon some nourice knee,
And I mysel war dead and gane!
For a maid again I’ll never be.’
- ‘Na mair o this, my dochter dear,
And of your mourning let abee;
For a bill of divorce I’ll gar write for him,
A mair better lord I’ll get for thee.’
- ‘Na mair o this, my father dear,
And of your folly let abee;
For I wad ne gie ae look o my lord’s face
For aw the lords in the haill cuntree.
- ‘But I’ll cast aff my robes o red,
And I’ll put on my robes o blue,
And I will travel to some other land,
To see gin my love will on me rue.
- ‘There shall na wash come on my face,
There shall na kaim come on my hair;
There shall neither coal nor candle-licht
Be seen intil my bouer na mair.
- ‘O wae be to thee, Blackwood,
And an ill death may ye dee!
Foe ye’ve been the haill occasion
Of parting my lord and me.’