University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The English and Scottish Popular Ballads

Edited by Francis James Child.

expand sectionI. 
expand sectionII. 
expand sectionIII. 
expand sectionIV. 
expand sectionV. 
expand sectionVI. 
expand sectionVII. 
expand sectionVIII. 
collapse sectionIX. 
expand section266. 
expand section267. 
expand section268. 
expand section269. 
expand section270. 
collapse section271. 
  
  
expand section272. 
expand section273. 
expand section274. 
expand section275. 
expand section276. 
expand section277. 
expand section278. 
expand section279. 
expand section280. 
expand section281. 
expand section282. 
expand section283. 
expand section284. 
expand section285. 
expand section286. 
expand section287. 
expand section288. 
expand section289. 
expand section290. 
expand section291. 
expand section292. 
expand section293. 
expand section294. 
expand section295. 
expand section296. 
expand section297. 
expand section298. 
expand section299. 
expand section300. 
expand section301. 
expand section302. 
expand section303. 
expand section304. 
expand section305. 

Laird of Wariestoun

THE LAIRD OF WARISTON—B

[_]

Kinloch MSS, VII, 217; from the recitation of Jenny Watson.

1

It was at dinner as they sat,
And whan they drank the wine,
How happy war the laird and lady
Of bonnie Wariston!

2

The lady spak but ae word,
The matter to conclude;
The laird strak her on the mouth,
Till she spat out o blude.

3

She did not know the way
Her mind to satisfy,
Till evil cam into [her] head
All by the Enemy.
[OMITTED]

4

‘At evening when ye sit,
And whan ye drink the wine,
See that ye fill the glass weill up
To the laird o Wariston.’

5

So at table whan they sat,
And whan they drank the wine,
She made the glass aft gae round
To the laird o Wariston.

6

The nurice she knet the knot,
And O she knet it sicker!
The lady did gie it a twig,
Till it began to wicker.

32

7

But word's gane doun to Leith,
And up to Embro toun,
That the lady she has slain the laird,
The laird o Waristoun.

8

Word has gane to her father, the grit Dunipace,
And an angry man was he;
Cries, Gar mak a barrel o pikes,
And row her down some lea!

9

She said, Wae be to ye, Wariston,
I wish ye may sink for sin!
For I have been your wife
These nine years, running ten;
And I never loved ye sae well
As now whan ye're lying slain.

10

‘But tak aff this gowd brocade,
And let my petticoat stay,
And tie a handkerchief round my face,
That the people may not see.’