Captain Wedderburn's courtship to Lord Roslin's daughter/Lord Roslin's Daughter

Lord ROSLIN’S DAUGHTER.

The Lord of Roslin’s Daughter,
walks thro' the wood her lane,
And by came Captain Wedderburn,
a servant to the King:
He said unto his servant man,
wer’t not against the law;
I would take her to my own bed,
and lay her next the wa'.

I'm walking here alone, she says,
among my father’s trees:
And you may let me walk alone,
kind Sir, now if you please.
The supper-bell it will be rung,
and i’ll be miss'd you knaw;
So I’ll not ly into your bed,
neither at stock nor wa'.

He says my pretty Lady,
I pray lend me your hand?
And you’ll have drums and trumpets,
always at your command,
And fifty men to guard you with,
that well their swords can draw,
And we’ll both ly into ae bed,
and thou’s ly next the wa’.

Hold away from me, kind Sir,
I pray let go my hand;
The supper-bell it will be rung,
no longer must I stand.
My father he'll no supper take,
if I be miss’d you knaw;
So I will not ly in your bed,
neither at stock nor wa'.

Then says the pretty Lady,
I pray tell me your name?
My name is Captain Wedderburn,
a servant to the King.
Tho’ thy father and his men were here,
of them I’d stand no awe,
But would take thee to my own bed,
and lay thee next the wa’.

He lighted off his milk white steed,
and set this Lady on,
And held her by the milk white hand,
ev'n as they rode along.
He held her by the middle jimp,
for fear that she should fa’;
So I'll take thee to my own bed,
and lay thee next the wa'.

He took her to his lodging house,
his landlady look’d ben,
Says,many ladies in E’nbrugh I've seen,
but never such a one.
But such a pretty face as this,
in it I never saw;
Go make her up a down-bed,
and lay her next the wa’.

Hold away from me, kind Sir,
I pray you let me be;
For I'll not go into your bed,
till you dress me dishes three.
Dishes three you must dress to me,
if I should eat them a’;
Before that I ly into your bed,
either at stock or wa'.

O I must have to my supper,
a Cherry without a stone,
And I must have to my supper,
a Chicken without a bone.
And l must have to my supper,
a bird without a ga';
Before I ly into your bed,
either at stock or wa’.

When the Cherry is in the bloom,
I'm sure it hath no stone;
And when the Chicken’s in it’s shell,
I’m sure it hath no bone
The Dove it is a gentle bird;
it flies without a ga’:
And we shall both ly in ae bed,
and thou’s ly next the wa’.

Hold away from me, kind Sir,
I pray you give me o’er;
For I will not go to your bed,
till you tell me questions four.
Questions four you must tell to me,
and that is twa and twa,
Or I’ll not ly into your bed,
neither at stock nor wa'.

You must get me some winter fruit,
that in December grew;
You must get me a silk mantle,
that wast was ne’er ca'd thro’.
What birds sing best & woods buds first,
what dews does on them fa’?
And then I’ll ly into your bed,
either at stock or wa'.

My father hath some winter fruit,
that in December grew;
My mother has a silk mantle,
that wast was ne’er ca'd thro'.
The Cock crows first, Cyder buds first,
the dew does on them fa';
So we’ll both ly into ae bed,
and thou’s ly next the wa’.

Hold away from me, kind Sir,
and do not me perplex;
For I will not ly in your bed,
till you tell me questions fix.
Questions six you must tell to me,
and that is four and twa,
Before I ly into your bed,
either at stock or wa’.

What is greener than the grass?
what’s higher than the trees?
And what is worse than women’s voice?
what’s deeper than the seas?
A sparrow’s horn, and priest unborn,
this night to join us twa;
Before I ly into your bed,
either at stock or wa'.

Death is greener than the grass,
sky’s higher than the trees;
The devil’s worse than women's voice,
hell’s deeper than the seas,
A sparrows horn you may well get,
there’s one on ev’ry pa’;
And twa upon the gab of it,
and thou shalt have them a’.

The Priest's standing at the gate,
just ready to come in;
No man can say that he was born,
no man without a sin:
A hole cut in his mother’s side,
he from the fame did fa’;
So we shall both ly in ae bed,
and thou’s ly next the wa’.

O little did this Lady think,
that morning when she raise,
It was to be the very last,
of all her maiden days.
But there is not in the King’s realm,
to be found a blyther twa:
And now they ly into ae bed,
and she lies next the wa’.