William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.
Fair AnnieAnonymous
I
And learn to lie your lane;
For I’m ga’n oer the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw bride to bring hame.
Wi’ her I will get gowd and gear;
Wi’ you I neer got nane.
Or brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring oer the dale?
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And braid her yellow hair.’
When maiden I am nane?
Have I not born seven sons to thee,
And am with child again?’
Another in her hand,
And she’s up to the highest tower,
To see him come to land.
And look oer yon sea-strand,
And see your father’s new-come bride,
Before she come to land.’
Come frae the castle wa!
I fear, if langer ye stand there,
Ye’ll let yoursell down fa’.
Her love’s ship for to see,
And the topmast and the mainmast
Shone like the silver free.
The bride’s ship to behold,
And the topmast and the mainmast
They shone just like the gold.
I wot she didna fail;
She met Lord Thomas and his bride,
As they came oer the dale.
You’re welcome to your land;
You’re welcome with your fair ladye,
That you lead by the hand.
You’re welcome to your bowers;
You’re welcome to your hame, ladye,
For a’ that’s here is yours.’
Sae dearly as I thank thee;
You’re the likest to my sister Annie,
That ever I did see.
And steald my sister away;
And shame scoup in his company,
And land where’er he gae!’
Another in the ha,
And a’ to wipe the trickling tears,
Sae fast as they did fa.
With white bread and with wine,
And aye she drank the wan water,
To had her colour fine.
With white bread and with brown;
And ay she turned her round about,
Sae fast the tears fell down.
Hung on a silver pin,
And aye he wipes the tear trickling
Adown her cheek and chin.
And smiled amang his men;
Says, ‘Like ye best the old ladye,
Or her that’s new come hame?’
And a’ men bound to bed,
Lord Thomas and his new-come bride
To their chamber they were gaed.
To hear what they might say;
‘And ever alas!’ Fair Annie cried,
‘That I should see this day!
Running on the castle wa,
And I were a grey cat mysell,
I soon would worry them a’.
Running oer yon lilly lee,
And I were a grew hound mysell,
Soon worried they a’ should be.’
And drearie was her sang,
And ever, as she sobbd and grat,
‘Wae to the man that did the wrang!’
‘My shoes are on my feet,
And I will to Fair Annie’s chamber,
And see what gars her greet.
That ye make sic a moan?
Has your wine-barrels cast the girds,
Or is your white bread gone?
Or wha was’t was your mother?
And had ye ony sister, Annie,
Or had ye ony brother?’
The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
And a’ the folk about the house
To me were sister and brother.’
I wot sae was he mine;
And it shall not be for lack o’ gowd
That ye your love sall tyne.
A’ loaded to the brim,
And I will gie them a’ to thee
Wi’ four to thine eldest son;
But thanks to a’ the powers in heaven
That I gae maiden hame!’