The Laird of Wariston
No: 194; variant: 194A
- DOWN by yon garden green
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.
- She has twa weel-made feet,
Far better is her hand;
She's as jimp in the middle
As ony willow-wand.
- 'Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
It's I will make you lady
Of a' the lands you see.'
- He spak a word in jest;
Her answer wasna good;
He threw a plate at her face,
Made it a' gush out o blood.
- She wasna frae her chamber
A step but barely three,
When up and at her richt hand
There stood Man's Enemy.
- 'Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
I'll learn you a wile
Avenged for to be.'
- The Foul Thief knotted the tether,
She lifted his head on hie,
The nourice drew the knot
That gard lord Waristoun die.
- Then word is gane to Leith,
Also to Edinburgh town,
That the lady had killd the laird,
The laird o Waristoun.
- 'Tak aff, tak aff my hood,
But lat my petticoat be;
Put my mantle oer my head,
For the fire I downa see.
- 'Now, a' ye gentle maids,
Tak warning now by me,
And never marry ane
But wha pleases your ee.
- 'For he married me for love,
But I married him for fee;
And sae brak out the feud
That gard my dearie die.'