The Gay Goshawk
No: 96; variant: 96D
- 'O WHERE'LL I get a pretty little bird
That'll go my errand soon,
That will fly to the Queen of England's dochter,
And bid my trew-luve come?'
- 'Here am I, a pretty little bird,
That'll go your errands soon,
That will fly to the Queen of England's daughter,
And bid your trew-luve come.'
- This wee birdie's taken its flight,
And it's flown owre the sea,
Until it cam to the Queen of England's daughter;
She's sitting in her bower-windie.
- Then out bespoke these nine ladies,
As they sat in a ring:
'O we'll awa to the west window,
To hear this birdie sing.'
- This wee birdie's taken its flight,
And it's flown owre them a',
And at the lady's left shoulder
It loot a letter fa.
- She has taken the letter up,
And read it speedilie:
'O mother, the queen, O mother, the queen,
Grant this request to me;
Whenever I do chance for to die,
In Scotland gar bury me.'
- 'Bring to me the red, red lead,
And rub it on her chin;
It's Oh and alace for my dochter Janet!
But there is not a breath within.
- 'Bring to me the red, red lead,
And rub it on her toe;
It's Oh and alace for my daughter Janet!
To Scotland she must go.'
- 'Rise up, rise up, ye seven sisters,
And make her winding sheet,
With the one side of the beaten gold,
And the other o the needle-wark.
- 'Rise up, rise up, ye seven brethren,
And make her carriage-bier,
With the one side of the beaten gold,
And the other o the silver clear.'
- 'They've carried east, they've carried west,
They've carried her high and low,
Until that they came to the king of Scotland,
Was sitting in his bower-window.
- 'Here is a token of your trew-love,
And here is a token come down,
For she is dead, and she's ready to be buried,
And she wants to be laid in your ground.'
- He's taen out his mickle knife,
And tore her winding sheet,
And there she lay like the crimson red,
And she smiled in his face so sweet.
- 'Go home, go home, you seven brethren,
Go home and saw your corn,
For she if fit for the queen of Scotland now,
And she's gien you the scorn.
- 'Go home, go home, you seven sisters,
Go home and sew your seam,
For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,
And she's ready to be my queen.'