Sweet Willie was a widow's son, And he wore a milk-white weed O; And weel could Willie read and write, Far better ride on steed O.
Lady Margerie was the first ladye 5 That drank to him the wine O; And aye as the healths gaed round and round, "Laddy, your love is mine O."
Lady Margerie was the first ladye That drank to him the beer O; 10 And aye as the healths gaed round and round, Laddy, ye're welcome here O.
"You must come intill my bower, When the evening bells do ring O; And you must come intill my bower, 15 When the evening mass doth sing O."
He's taen four-and-twenty braid arrows, And laced them in a whang O; And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower, As fast as he can gang O. 20
He set his ae foot on the wa', And the other on a stane O; And he's kill'd a' the king's life guards, He's kill'd them every man O.
"O open, open, Lady Margerie, 25 Open and let me in O; The weet weets a' my yellow hair, And the dew draps on my chin O."
With her feet as white as sleet, She strode her bower within O; 30 And with her fingers lang and sma', She's looten sweet Willie in O.
She's louted down unto his foot, To lowze sweet Willie's shoon O; The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze, 35 The blood had frozen in O.
"O Willie, O Willie, I fear that thou Hast bred me dule and sorrow; The deed that thou hast done this nicht Will kythe upon the morrow." 40
In then came her father dear, And a braid sword by his gare O; And he's gien Willie, the widow's son, A deep wound and a sair O.
"Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, 45 "Your sweat weets a' my side O; Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, "For your sweat I downa bide O."
She turned her back unto the wa', Her face unto the room O; 50 And there she saw her auld father, Fast walking up and doun O.
"Woe be to you, father," she said, "And an ill deid may you die O; For ye've killed Willie, the widow's son, 55 And he would have married me O."
She turned her back unto the room, Her face unto the wa' O; And with a deep and heavy sich, Her heart it brak in twa O. 60
WILLIE AND LADY MAISRY.
From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 155.
_The Bent sae Brown_, in the same volume, p. 30, resembles both _Clerk Saunders_ and the present ballad, but has a different catastrophe.
Sweet Willie was a widow's son, And milk-white was his weed; It sets him weel to bridle a horse, And better to saddle a steed, my dear, And better to saddle a steed. 5
But he is on to Maisry's bower door, And tirled at the pin; "Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry, Ye'll open, let me come in, my dear, Ye'll open, let me come in." 10
"O who is this at my bower door, Sae well that knows my name?"
"It is your ain true love, Willie, If ye love me, lat me in, my dear, If ye love me, lat me in." 15
Then huly, huly raise she up, For fear o' making din; Then in her arms lang and bent, She caught sweet Willie in, my dear, She caught sweet Willie in. 20
She lean'd her low down to her toe, To loose her true love's sheen; But cauld, cauld were the draps o' bleed, Fell fae his trusty brand, my dear, Fell fae his trusty brand. 25
"What frightfu' sight is that, my love?
A frightfu' sight to see; What bluid is this on your sharp brand, O may ye not tell me, my dear?
O may ye not tell me?" 30
"As I came thro' the woods this night, The wolf maist worried me; O shou'd I slain the wolf, Maisry?
Or shou'd the wolf slain me, my dear?
Or shou'd the wolf slain me?" 35
They hadna kiss'd nor love clapped, As lovers when they meet, Till up it starts her auld father, Out o' his drowsy sleep, my dear, Out o' his drowsy sleep. 40
"O what's become o' my house cock Sae crouse at ane did craw?
I wonder as much at my bold watch, That's nae shootin ower the wa', my dear, That's nae shooting ower the wa'. 45
"My gude house cock, my only son, Heir ower my land sae free; If ony ruffian hae him slain, High hanged shall he be, my dear, High hanged shall he be." 50
Then he's on to Maisry's bower door, And tirled at the pin; "Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry, Ye'll open, lat me come in, my dear, Ye'll open, lat me come in." 55
Between the curtains and the wa', She row'd her true love then; And huly went she to the door, And let her father in, my dear, And let her father in. 60
"What's become o' your maries, Maisry, Your bower it looks sae teem?
What's become o' your green claithing?
Your beds they are sae thin, my dear, Your beds they are sae thin." 65
"Gude forgie you, father," she said, "I wish ye be't for sin; Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me, But never found me wrang, my dear, But never found me wrang." 70
He turn'd him right and round about, As he'd been gaun awa'; But sae nimbly as he slippet in, Behind a screen sae sma', my dear, Behind a screen sae sma'. 75
Maisry thinking a' dangers past, She to her love did say; "Come, love, and take your silent rest, My auld father's away, my dear, My auld father's away!" 80
Then baith lock'd in each other's arms, They fell full fast asleep; When up it starts her auld father, And stood at their bed feet, my dear, And stood at their bed feet. 85
"I think I hae the villain now, That my dear son did slay; But I shall be reveng'd on him, Before I see the day, my dear, Before I see the day." 90
Then he's drawn out a trusty brand, And stroak'd it o'er a stray; And thro' and thro' sweet Willie's middle He's gart cauld iron gae, my dear, He's gart cauld iron gae. 95
Then up it waken'd Lady Maisry, Out o' her drowsy sleep; And when she saw her true love slain, She straight began to weep, my dear, She straight began to weep. 100
"O gude forgie you now, father," she said, "I wish ye be't for sin; For I never lov'd a love but ane, In my arms ye've him slain, my dear, In my arms ye've him slain." 105
"This night he's slain my gude bold watch, Thirty stout men and twa; Likewise he's slain your ae brother, To me was worth them a', my dear, To me was worth them a'." 110
"If he has slain my ae brither, Himsell had a' the blame; For mony a day he plots contriv'd, To hae sweet Willie slain, my dear, To hae sweet Willie slain. 115
"And tho' he's slain your gude bold watch, He might hae been forgien; They came on him in armour bright, When he was but alane, my dear, When he was but alane." 120
Nae meen was made for this young knight, In bower where he lay slain; But a' was for sweet Maisry bright, In fields where she ran brain, my dear, In fields where she ran brain. 125