PR Website - Geordie

No: 209; variant: 209B

'THERE was a battle i the north Amang our nobles many, And they have killed Sir Charles Hay, And they've taen thrae me my Geordie.'
'O where'll I gett a wi bit boy, A bonnie boy that's ready, That will gae in to my biggin With a letter to my ladie?'
Then up and startit a wi bit boy, An a bonnie boy was ready: 'It's I'll gae in to your biggin Wi a letter to your ladie.'
When the day was fair an the way was clear, An the wi bit boy was ready, An he's gane in to his biggin, Wi a letter to his ladie.
When she lookd the letter on, She was no a wearit ladie; But when she lookit the other side, She mourned for her Geordie.
'Gar sadle to me the black,' she says, 'For the brown rade neer sey bonnie, An I'll gae down to Enbro town, An see my true-love Geordie.'
When she cam to the water-side, The cobles war na ready; She's turnd her horse's head about, An in by the Queen's Ferry.
When she cam to the West Port, There war poor folks many; She dealt crowns an the ducatdowns, And bade them pray for Geordie.
When she cam to the Parliament Closs, There amang our nobles many, Cravats an caps war standing there, But low, low lay her Geordie.
When she gaed up the tolbooth-stairs, Amang our nobles manie, The napkin's tyed oer Geordie's face, And the gallows makin ready.
'O wad ye hae his lands or rents? Or wad ye hae his monie? Take a', a' frae him but his sark alone, Lesve me my true-love Geordie.'
The captain pu'd her on his knee, An ca'd her heart an honey: 'An ye wad wait se'en years for me, Ye wad never jump for Geordie.'
'O hold your tongue, you foolish man, Your speech it's a' but folly; For an ye wad wait till the day ye die, I wad neer take John for Geordie.'
'Twas up and spak the Lord Corstarph, The ill gae wi his body! 'O Geordie's neck it war on a block, Gif I had his fair ladie!'
'O haud yer tongue, ye foolish man, Yer speech is a' but folly; For if Geordie's neck war on a block, Ye soud neer enjoy his ladie.
'It's I hae se'en weel gawn mills, I wait they a' gang daily; I'll gie them a' an amang ye a' For the sparin o my Geordie.
'I hae ele'en bairns i the wast, I wait the're a' to Geordie; I'd see then a' streekit afore mine eyes Afore I lose my Geordie.
'I hae ele'en bairns i the wast, The twalt bears up my body; The youngest's on his nurse's knee, An he never saw his dadie.
'I hae se'en uncles in the north, They gang baith proud an lordly; I'd see them a' tread down afore my eyes Afore I lose my Geordie.'
Then out an spak an English lord, The ill gae wi his bodie! 'It's I gard hang Sir Francie Grey, An I'll soon gar hang your Geordie.'
It's out an spak than a Scottish lord, May the weel gae wi his body! 'It's I'll cast of my coat an feght Afore ye lose your Geordie.'
It's out then spak an English lord, May the ill gae wi his bodie! 'Before the morn at ten o'clock, I's hae the head o Geordie.'
Out then spak the Scottish lord, May the weel gae wi his body! 'I'll fight i bluid up to the knees Afore ye lose your Geordie.'
But out an spak the royal king, May the weel gae wi his body! 'There's be bluidie heads amang us a' Afore ye lose your Geordie.'
'Twas up than spak the royal queen, 'May the weel gae wi his body! Tell down, tell down five hunder pound, An ye's get wi you yer Geordie.'
Some gae her gold, some gae her crowns, Some gae her ducats many, An she's telld down five hundred pound, An she's taen away her Geordie.
An ay she praisd the powers above, An a' the royal family, An ay she blessed the royal queen, For sparin o her Geordie.
. . . . . . . . Nae bird sang sweeter in the bush Than she did wi her Geordie.
'It's wo be to my Lord Costorph, It's wo be to him daily! For if Geordie's neck had been on the block He had neer enjoyd his ladie.
'Gar print me ballants weel,' she said, 'Gar print me ballants many, Gar print me ballants weel,' she said, 'That I am a worthy ladie.'