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. 
collapse sectionV. 
expand section114. 
expand section115. 
expand section116. 
expand section117. 
expand section118. 
expand section119. 
expand section120. 
expand section121. 
expand section122. 
expand section123. 
expand section124. 
expand section125. 
expand section126. 
expand section127. 
expand section128. 
expand section129. 
expand section130. 
expand section131. 
expand section132. 
expand section133. 
expand section134. 
expand section135. 
expand section136. 
expand section137. 
expand section138. 
expand section139. 
expand section140. 
expand section141. 
expand section142. 
expand section143. 
expand section144. 
expand section145. 
expand section146. 
expand section147. 
expand section148. 
expand section149. 
expand section150. 
expand section151. 
expand section152. 
expand section153. 
expand section154. 
expand section155. 
expand sectionVI. 
expand sectionVII. 
expand sectionVIII. 
expand sectionIX. 

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.’