Willie of Winsberye
WILLIE O WINSBURY—F
[_]
Motherwell's MS., p. 404; from the recitation of Agnes
Laird, of Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.
1
Our king hath been a poor prisoner,
And a poor prisoner in Spain; O
When seven long years was past and gone,
Our Scotish king came hame. O
2
As he was riding along the way,
He met with his dear dochter:
‘What ails thee, what ails thee, my dochter dear,
Thou looks so pale and wan?
3
‘Have ye had any sore sickness,
Or have ye lovd a man?
Or is it for me, my dochter dear,
I have been so long in Spain?’
4
‘I have had no sore sickness,
Nor yet have I loved a man;
But it is for you, my father dear,
Thou've been so long in Spain.’
5
‘Cast aff, cast aff thy brown silk gown,
And spread it on yonder stone,
And I will tell you by and by
Whether thou art a maid or none.’
6
She's coosten off her brown silk gown,
And spread it on yonder stone,
And her belly was big, and her face pale and wan,
And she was about half gone.
7
‘Is it to a man o micht?
Or to a man of fame?
Or is it to one of the rank rebels
That I sent out of Spain?’
8
‘It is not to a man of micht,
Nor to a man of fame,
Nor yet to one of the rank rebels
That ye sent out o Spain;
But it is to Willie o Winsberry,
Thy very own serving-man.’
9
‘If it be to Willie o Winsberry,
As I trew well it be,
Gin the morn at ten o the clock
It's hanged shall he be.’
10
As the king was riding up the gate
He met Willie clothed in scarlet red,
And his hair was as yellow as the beam, beam gold,
And his breast as white as milk.
11
‘No wonder, no wonder,’ quo the king,
‘My dochter luvit thee;
For if thou was a woman, as thou'rt a man,
My bedfellow thou should be.’
12
The king called down his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Sweet Willie should ha been the foremost man,
But the hindmost man drew he.
13
‘Will you take my dochter Jean,
By the faith of her richt hand?
And you shall sup and dine with me,
And heir the third part of my land.’
14
‘I will take your dochter Jean,
By the faith of her richt hand,
And I will sup and dine with you,
But a fig for all your land;
For I've as much land in Winsberry
As we'll ride in a long summer's day.’
