l ye my true love ken,
"Sae sune as ye her see;
"For, of a' the flowers of fair England,
"The fairest flower is she.

"The red, that's on my true love's cheik,
"Is like blood drops on the snaw;
"The white, that is on her breast bare,
"Like the down o' the white sea-maw.

"And even at my love's bour door
"There grows a flowering birk;
"And ye maun sit and sing thereon
"As she gangs to the kirk.

"And four-and-twenty fair ladyes
"Will to the mass repair;
"But weel may ye my ladye ken,
"The fairest ladye there."

Lord William has written a love letter,
Put it under his pinion gray;
And he is awa' to Southern land
As fast as wings can gae.

And even at that ladye's bour
There grew a flowering birk;
And he sat down and sang thereon
As she gaed to the kirk.

And weel he kent that ladye fair
Amang her maidens free;
For the flower, that springs in May morning,
Was not sae sweet as she.

He lighted at the ladye's yate,
And sat him on a pin;
And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love,
Till a' was cosh[A] within.

And first he sang a low low note,
And syne he sang a clear;
And aye the o'erword o' the sang
Was--"Your love can no win here."

"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a':
"The wine flows you amang:
"While I gang to my shot-window,
"And hear yon bonny bird's sang.

"Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,
"The sang ye sung yestreen;
"For weel I ken, by your sweet singing,
"Ye are frae my true love sen'."

O first he sang a merry sang,
And syne he sang a grave;
And syne he peck'd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.

"Have there a letter from Lord William;
"He says he's sent ye three:
"He canna wait your love langer,
"But for your sake he'll die."

"Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,
"And brew his bridal ale;
"And I sall meet him at Mary's kirk
"Lang, lang ere it be stale."

The ladye's gane to her chamber,
And a moanfu' woman was she;
As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash,[B]
And were about to die.

"A boon, a boon, my father deir,
"A boon I beg of thee!"
"Ask not that paughty Scottish lord,
"For him you ne'er shall see.

"But, for your honest asking else,
"Wee! granted it shall be."
"Then, gin I die in Southern land,
"In Scotland gar bury me.

"And the first kirk that ye come to,
"Ye's gar the mass be sung;
"And the