No: 65; variant: 65[K]
- Marjorie was fer father’s dear,
Her mother’s only heir,
An she’s away to Strawberry Castle,
To learn some unco lear.
- She had na been i Strawberry Castle
A year but barely three
Till Marjorie turnd big wi child,
As big as big could be.
- ‘Will ye hae that old, old man
To be yer daily mate,
Or will ye burn in fire strong
For your true lover’s sake?’
- ‘I winna marry that old, old man
To be my daily mate;
I’ll rather burn i fire strong
For my true lover’s sake.
- ‘O where will I get a bonnie boy
That will win hose an shoon
An will gae rin to Strawberry Castle,
To gar my good lord come soon?’
- ‘Here am I, a bonnie boy
That will win hose an shoon,
An I’ll gae rin to Strawberry Castle,
And gar your lord come soon.’
- ‘Should ye come to a brocken brig,
Than bend your bow an swim;
An whan ye com to garse growin
Set down yer feet an rin.’
- When eer he came to brigs broken,
He bent his bow an swam,
And whan he cam to grass growin
He set down his feet an ran.
- ‘There’s nane o a’ yer brigs broken,
Ther’s nane of your castles win;
But the fairest lady in a’ your land
This day for you will burn.’
- ‘Gar saddle me the black, black horse,
Gar saddle me the brown,
Gar saddle me the swiftest stead
That eer carried man to town.’
- He’s burstit the black unto the slack,
The grey unto the brae,
An ay the page that ran afore
Cried, Ride, sir, an ye may.
- Her father kindlet the bale-fire,
Her brother set the stake,
Her mother sat an saw her burn,
An never cired Alack!
- ‘Beet on, beet [on], my cruel father,
For you I cound nae friend;
But for fifteen well mete mile
I’ll hear my love’s bridle ring.’
- When he cam to the bonnie Dundee,
He lightit wi a glent;
Wi jet-black boots an glittrin spurs
Through that bale-fire he went.
- He thought his love wad hae datit him,
But she was dead an gane;
He was na sae wae for the lady
As he was for her yong son.
- ‘But I’ll gar burn for you, Marjorie,
Yer father an yer mother,
An I’ll gar burn for you, Marjorie,
Your sister an your brother.
- ‘An I will burn for you, Marjorie,
The town that ye’r brunt in,
An monie ane’s be fatherless
That has but little sin.’