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’.