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THE BONNY LASS OF ANGLESEY


215

The Bonny Lass of Anglesey

THE BONNY LASS OF ANGLESEY—A

[_]

Herd's MSS, I, 148.

1

Our king he has a secret to tell,
And ay well keepit it must be:
The English lords are coming down
To dance and win the victory.

2

Our king has cry'd a noble cry,
And ay well keepit it must be:
‘Gar saddle ye, and bring to me
The bonny lass of Anglesey.’

3

Up she starts, as white as the milk,
Between him and his company:
What is the thing I hae to ask,
If I sould win the victory?’

4

‘Fifteen ploughs but and a mill
I gie thee till the day thou die,
And the fairest knight in a' my court
To chuse thy husband for to be.’

5

She's taen the fifteen lord[s] by the hand,
Saying, ‘Will ye come dance with me?’
But on the morn at ten o'clock
They gave it oer most shamefully.

6

Up then rais the fifteenth lord —
I wat an angry man was he —
Laid by frae him his belt and sword,
And to the floor gaed manfully.

7

He said, ‘My feet shall be my dead
Before she win the victory;’
But before 't was ten o'clock at night
He gaed it oer as shamefully.

The Bonny Lass o Englessie's Dance

THE BONNY LASS OF ANGLESEY—B

[_]

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 63.

1

Word has gane thro a' this land,
And O well noticed it maun be!
The English lords are coming down
To dance and gain the victorie.

2

The king has made a noble cry,
And well attended it maun be:
‘Come saddle ye, and bring to me
The bonny lass o Englessie.’

3

She started up, a' dress'd in white,
Between him and his companie;
Said, What will ye gie, my royal liege,
If I will dance this dance for thee?

4

‘Five good ploughs but and a mill
I'll give you till the day ye die;
The bravest knight in all my court,
I'll give, your husband for to be.’

5

She's taen the first lord by the hand,
Says, ‘Ye'll rise up and dance wi me;’
But she made a' these lords fifeteen
To gie it up right shamefullie.

6

Then out it speaks a younger lord,
Says, ‘Fye for shame! how can this be?’
He loosd his brand frae aff his side,
Likewise his buckler frae his knee.

7

He sware his feet should be his dead
Before he lost the victorie;
He danc'd full fast, but tired at last,
And gae it up as shamefullie.