Cospatrick has sent o'er the faem;

Cospatrick brought his lady hame;

And fourscore ships have come her wi',

The lady by the green-wood tree.

There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread,

And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae red,

And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour,

And twal* and twal' wi' the paramour.

Sweet Willy was a widow's son,

And at her stirrup he did run;

And she was clad in the finest pall,

But aye she let the tears down fall.

"O is your saddle set awry?

Or rides your steed for you ower high?

Or are you mourning, in your tide,

That you should be Cospatrick's bride?"

"I am not mourning, at this tide,

That I should be Cospatrick's bride;

But I am sorrowing in my mood,

That I should leave my mother good.

"But, gentle boy, come tell to me,

What is the custom of thy country?"—

"The custom thereof, my dame," he says,

"Will ill a gentle lady please.

"Seven king's daughters has our lord wedded,

And seven king's daughters has our lord bedded;

But he's cutted their breasts ' frae their breast-bane,

And sent them mourning hame again.

"Yet, gin you're sure that you're a maid,

Ye may gae safely to his bed;

But gif o' that ye be na sure,

Then hire some damsel o' your bower."—

The lady's call'd her bour maiden,

That waiting was into her train;

"Five thousands merks I'll gie to thee,

To sleep this night with my lord for me."—

When bells were rung, and mass was sayen,

And a' men unto bed were gane,

Cospatrick and the bonny maid,

Into a chamber they were laid.

"Now, speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,

And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;

And speak up, my bonny brown sword, that winna lie,

Is this a true maiden that lies by me?"—

"It is not a maid that you hae wedded,

But it is a maid that you hae bedded;

It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,

But not the maiden that it should be."—

O wrathfully he left the bed,

Aud wrathfully his claes on did;

And he has ta'en him through the ha',

And on his mother he did ca'.

"I am the most unhappy man,

That ever was in Christian land!

I courted a maiden, meek and mild,

And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi' child."—

"O stay, my son, into this ha',

And sport ye wi* your merrymen a';

And I will to the secret bower,

To see how it fares wi' your paramour."—

The carline she was stark and sture,

She aff the hinges dang the dure;

"O is your bairn to laird or loon,

Or is it to your father's groom?"—

"O hear me, mother, on my knee,

Till my sad story I tell to thee:

O we were sisters, sisters seven,

We were the fairest under heaven.

"It fell on a summer's afternoon,

When a' our toilsome task was done,

We cast the kevils us amang,

To see which should to the green-wood gang.

"Ohon! alas, for I was youngest,

And aye my weird it was the hardest!

The kevil it on me did fa',

Whilk was the cause of a' my woe.

"For to the green-wood I maun gae,

To pu' the red rose and the slae;

To pu' the red rose and the thyme,

To deck my mother's bower and mine.

"I hadna pu'd a flower but ane,

When by there came a gallant hend,

Wi* high-coll'd hose and laigh-coll'd shoon,

And he seem'd to be some king's son.

"And be I a maid, or be I nae,

He kept me there till the close o' day;

And be I a maid, or be I nane,

He kept me there till the day was done.

"He gae me a lock o' his yellow hair,

And bade me keep it ever mair;

He gae me a carknet o' bonny beads,

And bade me keep it against my needs.

"He gae to me a gay gold ring,

And bade me keep it abune a' thing."—

"What did ye wi' the tokens rare,

That ye gat frae that gallant there?"—

"O bring that coffer unto me,

And a' the tokens ye sall see."—

"Now stay, daughter, your bower within,

While I gae parley wi' my son."—

O she has ta'en her thro' the ha,

And on her son began to ca;

"What did ye wi' the bonny beads

I bade you keep against your needs?

"What did you wi' the gay gold ring

I bade you keep abune a' thing?"—

"I gae them to a lady gay,

I met on green-wood on a day.

"But I wad gie a' my halls and towers,

I had that lady within my bowers;

But I wad gie my very life,

I had that lady to my wife."—

"Now keep, my son, your halls and towers,

Ye have the bright burd in your bowers;

And keep, my son, your very life,

Ye have that lady to your wife."—

Now, or a month was come and gane,

The lady bare a bonny son;

And 'twas weel written on his breast-bane,

"Cospatrick is my fathers name."

"O row my lady in satin and silk,

And wash my son in the morning milk."

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