PR Website - The King’s Dochter Lady Jean

LADY MARGARET sits in her bow-window, Sewing her silken seam; . . . . . . . . . . .
She's drapt the thimble at her tae, And her scissars at her heel, And she's awa to the merry green-wood, To see the leaves grow green.
She had scarsely bowed a branch, Or plucked a nut frae the tree, Till up and starts a fair young man, And a fair young man was he.
'How dare ye shake the leaves?' he said, 'How dare ye break the tree? How dare ye pluck the nuts,' he said, 'Without the leave of me?'
. . . . . . . . . . . 'Oh I know the merry green wood's my ain, And I'll ask the leave of nane.'
He gript her by the middle sae sma, He gently sat her down, While the grass grew up on every side, And the apple trees hang down.
She says, Young man, what is your name? For ye've brought me to meikle shame; For I am the king's youngest daughter, And how shall I gae hame?
'If you're the king's youngest daughter, It's I'm his auldest son, And heavy heavy is the deed, sister, That you and I have done.'
He had a penknife in his hand, Hang low down by his gair, And between the long rib and the short one He woundit her deep and sair.
. . . . . . . . . . . And fast and fast her ruddy bright blood Fell drapping on the ground.
She took the glove off her right hand, And slowly slipt it in the wound, And slowly has she risen up, And slowly slipped home.

'O sister dear, when thou gaes hame Unto thy father's ha, It's make my bed baith braid and lang, Wi the sheets as white as snaw.'

'When I came by the high church-yard Heavy was the stain that bruised my heel, . . . . . . . that bruised my heart, I'm afraid it shall neer heal.'