  There come seven gypsies on a day, Oh, but they sang bonny, O! And they sang so sweet, and they sang so clear, Down cam the earl's ladie, O. They gave to her the nutmeg, And they gave to her the ginger; But she gave to them a far better thing, The seven gold rings off her fingers. When the earl he did come home, Enquiring for his ladie, One of the servants made this reply, 'She's awa with the gypsie laddie.' 'Come saddle for me the brown,' he said, 'For the black was ne'er so speedy, And I will travel night and day Till I find out my ladie.' 'Will you come home, my dear?' he said, 'Oh will you come home, my honey? And by the point of my broad sword, A hand I'll ne'er lay on you.' 'Last night I lay on a good feather-bed, And my own wedded lord beside me, And to-night I'll lie in the ash-corner, With the gypsies all around me. 'They took off my high-heeled shoes, That were made of Spanish leather, And I have put on coarse Lowland brogues, To trip it o'er the heather.' 'The Earl of Cashan is lying sick; Not one hair I'm sorry; I'd rather have a kiss from his fair lady's lips Than all his gold and his money.' |
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