Ballads of Mystery and Miracle and Fyttes of Mirth Part 16

14.

Out an' speaks the seventh of them, 'Altho' there wear no a man but me, I'se bear the brand into my hand Shall quickly gar Clark Sanders die.'

15.

Out he has ta'en a bright long brand, And he has striped it throw the straw, And throw and throw Clarke Sanders' body A wat he has gard cold iron gae.

16.

Sanders he started, an' Margret she lapt Intill his arms where she lay; And well and wellsom was the night, A wat it was between these twa.

17.

And they lay still, and sleeped sound, Untill the day began to daw; And kindly till him she did say, 'It is time, trew-love, ye wear awa'.'

18.

They lay still, and sleeped sound, Untill the sun began to shine; She lookt between her and the wa', And dull and heavy was his een.

19.

She thought it had been a loathsome sweat, A wat it had fallen this twa between; But it was the blood of his fair body, A wat his life days wair na lang.

20.

'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake What other ladys would na thoule; When seven years is come and gone, There's near a shoe go on my sole.

21.

'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake What other ladies would think mare; When seven years is come and gone, There's nere a comb go in my hair.

22.

'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake, What other ladies would think lack; When seven years is come and gone, I'le wear nought but dowy black.'

23.

The bells gaed clinking throw the towne, To carry the dead corps to the clay; An' sighing says her May Margret, 'A wat I bide a doulfou' day.'

24.

In an' come her father dear, Stout steping on the floor; ... ... ...

25.

'Hold your toung, my doughter dear, Let a' your mourning a-bee; I'le carry the dead corps to the clay, An' I'le come back an' comfort thee.'

26.

'Comfort well your seven sons; For comforted will I never bee; For it was neither lord nor loune That was in bower last night wi' mee.'

27.

Whan bells war rung, an' ma.s.s was sung, A wat a' man to bed were gone, Clark Sanders came to Margret's window, With mony a sad sigh and groan.

28.

'Are ye sleeping, Margret?' he says, 'Or are ye waking presentlie?

Give me my faith and trouthe again, A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.'

29.

'Your faith and trouth ye's never get, Nor our trew love shall never twain, Till ye come with me in my bower, And kiss me both cheek and chin.'

30.

'My mouth it is full cold, Margret, It has the smell now of the ground; And if I kiss thy comely mouth, Thy life days will not be long.

31.

'c.o.c.ks are crowing a merry mid-larf, I wat the wild fule boded day; Gie me my faith and trouthe again.

And let me fare me on my way.'

32.

'Thy faith and trouth thou shall na get, And our trew love shall never twin, Till ye tell me what comes of women A wat that dy's in strong traveling?'

33.

'Their beds are made in the heavens high, Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee, Well set about wi' gillyflowers: A wat sweet company for to see.

34.

'O, c.o.c.ks are crowing a merry mid-larf, A wat the wilde foule boded day; The salms of Heaven will be sung, And ere now I'le be misst away.'

35.

Up she has tain a bright long wand, And she has straked her trouth thereon; She has given [it] him out at the shot-window, Wi' many a sad sigh and heavy groan.

36.

'I thank you, Margret; I thank you, Margret, And I thank you heartilie; Gin ever the dead come for the quick, Be sure, Margret, I'll come again for thee.'

37.

It's hose an' shoon an' gound alane, She clame the wall and follow'd him, Until she came to a green forest, On this she lost the sight of him.

38.

'Is there any room at your head, Sanders?

Is there any room at your feet?

Or any room at your twa sides, Whare fain, fain woud I sleep?'

39.

'Thair is na room at my head, Margret, Thair is na room at my feet; There is room at my twa sides, For ladys for to sleep.

40.

'Cold meal is my covering owre, But an' my winding sheet; My bed it is full low, I say, Down among the hongerey worms I sleep.

41.

'Cold meal is my covering owre, But an' my winding sheet; The dew it falls na sooner down Then ay it is full weet.

42.

'But plait a wand o' bonny birk, And lay it on my breast; And shed a tear upon my grave, And wish my saul gude rest.

43.

'And fair Margret, and rare Margret, And Margret o' veritie, Gin e'er ye love another man, Ne'er love him as ye did me.'

44.

Then up and crew the milk-white c.o.c.k, And up and crew the grey; The lover vanish'd in the air, And she gaed weeping away.