The English and Scottish Popular Ballads Edited by Francis James Child. |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
| 83. |
| 84. |
| 85. |
| 86. |
| 87. |
| 88. |
| 89. |
| 90. |
| 91. |
| 92. |
| 93. |
| 94. |
| 95. |
| 96. |
| 97. |
| 98. |
| 99. |
| 100. |
| 101. |
| 102. |
| 103. |
| 104. |
| 105. |
| 106. |
| 107. |
| 108. |
| 109. |
| 110. |
| 111. |
| 112. |
| 113. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | The English and Scottish Popular Ballads |  |
LADY DIAMOND—C
1
There was a king, and a glorious king,And a king of mickle fame,
And he had daughters only one,
Lady Dysmal was her name.
2
He had a boy, and a kitchen-boy,A boy of mickle scorn,
And she lovd him lang, and she loved him aye,
Till the grass oergrew the corn.
3
When twenty weeks were gone and past,O she began to greet!
Her petticoat grew short before,
And her stays they wadna meet.
4
It fell upon a winter's nightThe king could get nae rest;
He came unto his daughter dear,
Just like a wandring ghaist.
5
He cam into her bed-chalmer,And drew the curtains round:
‘What aileth thee, my daughter dear?
I fear you've gotten wrong.’
6
‘O if I have, despise me not,For he is all my joy;
I will forsake baith dukes and earls,
And marry your kitchen-boy.’
7
‘Go call to me my merry men all,By thirty and by three;
Go call to me my kitchen-boy,
We'll murder him secretlie.’
8
There was nae din that could be heard,And neer a word was said,
Till they got him baith fast and sure
Between twa feather-beds.
9
‘Go cut the heart out of his breast,And put it in a cup of gold,
And present it to his Dysmal dear,
For she is baith stout and bold.’
37
10
They've cut the heart out of his breast,And put it in a cup of gold,
And presented it to his Dysmal dear,
Who was baith stout and bold.
11
‘O come to me, my hinney, my heart,O come to me, my joy!
O come to me, my hinney, my heart
My father's kitchen-boy!’
12
She's taen the cup out of their hands,And set it at her bed-head;
She washd it wi the tears that fell from her eyes,
And next morning she was dead.
13
‘O where were ye, my merry men all,Whom I paid meat and wage,
Ye didna hold my cruel hand
When I was in my rage?
14
‘For gone is a' my heart's delight,And gone is a' my joy;
For my dear Dysmal she is dead,
And so is my kitchen-boy.’
| The English and Scottish Popular Ballads | |