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Home  »  The Oxford Book of Ballads  »  48. Brown Adam

Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (1863–1944). The Oxford Book of Ballads. 1910.

48

48. Brown Adam

I

O WHA would wish the wind to blau

Or the green leaves fa’ therewith?

Or wha would wish a lealer love

Than Brown Adam the Smith?

II

But they hae banish’d Brown Adam,

Frae father and frae mither;

And they hae banish’d Brown Adam,

Frae sister and frae brither.

III

And they hae banish’d Brown Adam

Frae the flow’r o’ a’ his kin;

And he’s biggit a bow’r i’ the good green-wood

Between his ladye and him.

IV

O it fell once upon a day

Brown Adam he thought long,

And he is to the green-wood

As fast as he could gang.

V

He has ta’en his bow his arm over,

His sword intill his han’,

And he is to the good green-wood

To hunt some venison.

VI

O he’s shot up, and he’s shot down

The bunting on the breer;

And he’s sent it hame to his ladye,

Bade her be of good cheer.

VII

O he’s shot up, and he’s shot down,

The linnet on the thorn,

And sent it hame to his ladye,

Said he’d be hame the morn.

VIII

When he cam’ till his lady’s bow’r-door

He stood a little forbye,

And there he heard a fu’ fause knight

Tempting his gay ladye.

IX

O he’s ta’en out a gay gold ring

Had cost him mony a poun’;

‘O grant me love for love, ladye,

And this sall be your own.’—

X

‘I lo’e Brown Adam well,’ she says,

‘I wot sae does he me;

I wadna gie Brown Adam’s love

For nae fause knight I see.’

XI

Out he has ta’en a purse of gold

Was a’ fu’ to the string;

‘O grant me love for love, ladye,

And a’ this sall be thine.’—

XII

‘I lo’e Brown Adam well,’ she says,

An’ I ken sae does he me;

An’ I wadna be your light leman

For mair nor ye could gie.’

XIII

Then out he drew his lang, lang bran’,

And he’s flash’d it in her e’en:

‘Now grant me love for love, lady,

Or thro’ you this sall gang.’—

XIV

‘O,’ sighing said that gay ladye,

‘Brown Adam tarries lang!’—

Then up and starts him Brown Adam,

Says, ‘I’am just to your hand.’

XV

He’s gar’d him leave his bow, his bow,

He’s gar’d him leave his brand;

He’s gar’d him leave a better pledge—

Four fingers o’ his right hand.


biggit] built,breer] briar.