William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.
Lord Thomas and Fair AnnetAnonymous
L
Sate a’ day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.
Fair Annet took it ill:
‘A’, I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends’ will.’
A wife wull neir wed yee:’
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.
‘A gude rede gie to mee;
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let Faire Annet bee?’
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty Fair Annet haes
O it wull soon be gane.’
‘Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A’, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let Fair Annet bee?’
The nut-browne bride has kye;
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast Fair Annet bye.’
And her kye into the byre;
And I sall hae nothing to mysell
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.’
‘Now, sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set Fair Annet free?’
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
What is this we brought hame!’
And marrie me owt o’ hand:
And I will tak the nut-browne bride,
Fair Annet may leive the land.’
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane unto the bower
Wherein Fair Annet lay.
‘Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Marie’s Kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.’
And dress to me my hair;
Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o’ the holland fine,
The other o’ needle-work.’
He amblit like the wind;
Wi’ siller he was shod before,
Wi’ burning gowd behind.
Wer a’ tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o’ the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
Rade by Fair Annet’s side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
She sat on Marie’s stean:
The cleading that Fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.
She shimmered like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist
Was a’ wi’ pearles bedone.
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
When Fair Annet drew near.
He gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on Fair Annet’s knee.
She spak wi’ meikle spite:
‘And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?’
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mither’s wame.’
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
That word spak nevir mair.
And marvelit what mote bee;
But whan he saw her dear heart’s blude,
A’ wood-wroth wexed hee.
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.
‘Now stay, my dear,’ he cry’d;
Then strake the dagger until his heart,
And fell deid by her side.
Fair Annet within the quiere,
And o’ the ane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil
They were twa luvers deare.