- 'Learn to mak you bed, honey, And learn to lye your lane, For I'm gaun owre the salt seas, A fair lady to bring hame.
- 'And with her I'll get gold and gear, With thee I neer got nane; I took you as a waaf woman, I leave you as the same.'
- 'What aileth thee at me, my lord, What aileth thee at me, When seven bonnie sons I have born, All of your fair bodie?
- 'The eldest of your seven sons, He can both read and write; The second of your sons, my lord, Can do it more perfyte.
- 'The third one of your sons, my lord, He waters your milk-white steed; The fourth one of your sons, my lord, With red gold shines his weed.
- 'The fifth one of your sons, my lord, He serves you when you dine; The sixth one now you do behold, How he walks out and in.
- 'The seventh one of your sons, my lord, Sucks hard at my breast-bane; When a' the house they are at rest, For him I can get nane.
- 'And if you leave me thus forlorn, A wainless wife I'll be, For anybody's gold or gear That is beyond the sea.'
- 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, Or wha will brew my ale? Or wha will cook my kitchen neat, Or give my men their meal?'
- 'For love I'll bake your bridal bread, To brew your ale I'm fain, To cook your kitchen, as I have done, Till you return again.'
- 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, Or wha will brew my ale? Or wha will welcome my braw bride, That I bring owre the dale?'
- 'For love I'll bake your bridal bread, For love I'll brew your ale, And I will welcome your braw bride That you bring owre the dale.'
- Her mind she keeped, but sair she weepd The time that he was gane . . . . . . . . . . . .
- 'Go up, go up, my eldest son, Go to the upmost ha, And see if you see your father coming, With your mother-to-be-in-law.'
- 'Put on, put on, O mother dear, Put on your gouns so braw, For yonder is my father coming, With my mother-to-be-in-law.'
- She's taen the wheat-bread in one hand, The red wines, which plenty were, And she's gane to the outmost gate, And bid them welcome there.
- 'You're welcome here, my brother dear, Ye're welcome, brother John; Ye're welcome a' my brethern dear, That has this journey gone.'
- 'I thank you, sister Annie,' he says, 'And I thank you heartilie, And as you've welcomed home myself, You'll welcome my fair ladye.'
- 'If I had roses to my feet, And ribbons to my gown, And as leal a maid as your braw bride, I would speak without a frown.'
- He's given her roses to her feet, And ribbons to her gown, And she has welcomed his braw bride, But weel that was her own'
- 'I thank you, sister Annie,' she says, 'I thank you heartilie, And if I be seven years about this place, Rewarded you shall be.'
- She served them up, she served them down, And she served all their cries, And aye as she came down the stair The tears fell from her eyes.
- When mass was sung, and all bells rung, And all men boune for bed, The good lord and his fair lady Were in their chamber laid.
- But poor Annie and her seven sons Was in a room hard by, And as she lay she sighed and wept, And thus began to cry:
- 'O were my sons transformed to cats, To speel this castle wa, And I mysell a red blood-hound That I might worry them a'''
- The bride she overhearing all, And sair she rued her fate: 'Awauk, awauk, my lord,' she said, 'Awauk, for well you may; For There's a woman in this gate That will go mad ere day.
- 'I fear she is a leman of thine, And a leman meek and mild; Get up and pack her down the stairs, Tho the woods were neer sae wild.'
- 'O yes, she is a leman of mine, And a leman meek and kind, And I will not pack her down the stairs, For a' the gear that's thine.'
- 'O wha's your father, Ann?' she says, 'Or wha's your mother dear? Or wha's your sister, Ann?' she says, 'Or brother? let me hear.'
- 'King Easter he's my father dear, The Queen my mother was; John Armstrang, in the west-airt lands, My eldest brother is.'
- 'Then I'm your sister, Ann,' she says, 'And I'm a full sister to thee; You were stolen awa when very young, By the same lord's treacherie.
- 'I've seven ships upon the sea, All loaded to the brim, And five of them I'll give to thee, And twa shall carry me hame.
- 'My mother shall mak my tocher up, When I tell her how you thrive; For we never knew where you was gone, Or if you was alive.'
No: 62; variant: 62C
Source: Motherwell's manuscript, p. 351, from the recitation of Janet Holmes, an old woman in Kilbarchan, who derived the ballad from her mother; July 18, 1825.