; Roch--or Rough--royal, I have
not found, but there is a Rough castle in Stirlingshire' (Child).

FAIR ANNIE OF ROUGH ROYAL

1.
'O wha will shoe my fu' fair foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp,
Wi' the new-made London band?

2.
'And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
Wi' the new-made silver kaim?
And wha will father my young son,
Till Love Gregor come hame?'

3.
'Your father will shoe your fu' fair foot,
Your mother will glove your hand;
Your sister will lace your middle jimp
Wi' the new-made London band.

4.
'Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,
Wi' the new-made silver kaim;
And the king of heaven will father your bairn,
Till Love Gregor come haim.'

5.
'But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea,
For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
Since he canno come hame to me.'

6.
O she has gotten a bonny boat,
And sail'd the sa't sea fame;
She lang'd to see her ain true-love,
Since he could no come hame.

7.
'O row your boat, my mariners,
And bring me to the land,
For yonder I see my love's castle,
Closs by the sa't sea strand.'

8.
She has ta'en her young son in her arms,
And to the door she's gone,
And lang she's knock'd and sair she ca'd,
But answer got she none.

9.
'O open the door, Love Gregor,' she says,
'O open, and let me in;
For the wind blaws thro' my yellow hair,
And the rain draps o'er my chin.'

10.
'Awa', awa', ye ill woman,
You 'r nae come here for good;
You 'r but some witch, or wile warlock,
Or mer-maid of the flood.'

11.
'I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,
Nor mer-maid of the sea,
I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;
O open the door to me.'

12.
'Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal--
And I trust ye are not she--
Now tell me some of the love-tokens
That past between you and me.'

13.
'O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,
When we sat at the wine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers?
And I can show thee thine.

14.
'O yours was good, and good enneugh,
But ay the best was mine;
For yours was o' the good red goud,
But mine o' the dimonds fine.

15.
'But open the door now, Love Gregor,
O open the door I pray,
For your young son that is in my arms
Will be dead ere it be day.'

16.
'Awa', awa', ye ill woman,