The King's Daughter/Catherine Johnstone

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CATHERINE JOHNSTONE.

There was a lass as I heard say,
Lived low doun in a glen;
Her name was Catherine Johnstone,
Weel known to many men.

Doun came the laird o’ Lamington,
Doun frae the south countrie;
And he is for this bonnie lass,
Her bridegroom for to be.

He’s ask’d her father and mother,
The chief of a’ her kin’;
And then he ask’d the bonnie lass,
And did her favour win.

Doun came an English gentleman,
Doun from the English border;
He is for this bonnie lass,
To keep his house in order.

He ask’d her father and mother,
As I do hear them say;
But he never ask’d the lass herself,
Till on her wedding day.

But she has wrote a long letter,
And seal’d it with her hand:
And sent it to lord Lamington,
To let him understand.

The first line o’ the letter he read,
He was baith glad and fain,
But or he read the letter o’er,
He was baith pale and wan.

Then he has sent a messenger,
And out through all his land;
And four-and-twenty armed men,
Were all at his command.

But he has left his merry men all;
Left them on the lee;
And he’s awa’ to the wedding house,
To see what he could see.

But when he came to the wedding house,
As I do understand;
There were four and twenty belted knights,
Sat at a table round.

They rose all to honour him,
For he was of high renown;
They rose all for to welcome him,
And bade him to sit down.

O meikle was the good red wine,
In silver cups did flow;
But aye she drank to Lamington,
For with him would she go.

O meikle was the good red wine,
In silver cups gaed round;
At length they began to whisper words,
None could them understand.

“O came ye here for sport, young man,
Or came ye here for play?
Or came ye for our bonnie bride,
On this her wedding day?”

“I came not here for sport,” he said,
“Neither did I for play;
But for one word o’ your bonnie bride.
I’ll mount and go away.”

They set her maids behind her,
To hear what they would say;
But the first question he ask’d at her,
Was always answered nay;

The next question he ask’d at her,
Was “Mount and come away?”

It’s up the Couden bank,
And doun the Couden brae;
And aye she made the trumpet sound,
It’s a weel won play.

O meikle was the blood was shed,
Upon the Couden brae;
And aye she made the trumpet sound,
It’s a’ fair play.

Come a’ ye English gentlemen,
That is of England born;
Come na doun to Scotland,
For fear ye get the scorn.

They’ll feed ye up wi’ flattering words,
And that’s foul play;
And they’ll dress you frogs instead of fish,
Just on your wedding day