The book of British ballads . No, I will tak my mithers counsel,And marrie me owt o hand ; And I will tak the nut-browne bride:Fair Annet may leive the land. Up then rose fair Annets fatherTwa hours or it wer day, And he is gane into the bower,Wherein fair Annet lay. Rise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says, Put on your silken sheene ; Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,And see that rich weddeen.— My maides gae to my dressing-roome,And dress to me my hair; Whair-eir ye laid a plait before,See ye lay ten times mair. My maids, gae to my dressing-room,And dress to me my smock; The one half is o the holl
The book of British ballads . No, I will tak my mithers counsel,And marrie me owt o hand ; And I will tak the nut-browne bride:Fair Annet may leive the land. Up then rose fair Annets fatherTwa hours or it wer day, And he is gane into the bower,Wherein fair Annet lay. Rise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says, Put on your silken sheene ; Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,And see that rich weddeen.— My maides gae to my dressing-roome,And dress to me my hair; Whair-eir ye laid a plait before,See ye lay ten times mair. My maids, gae to my dressing-room,And dress to me my smock; The one half is o the holland fine,The other o needle-work. The horse fair Annet rade uponHe amblit like the wind, Wi siller he was shod before,Wi burning gowd behind. Four and twantye siller bellsWer a tyed till his mane, And yae tift o the norland wind,They tinkled ane by ane. Four and twantye gay glide knichtsRade by fair Annets side, And four and twanty fair ladies,As gin she had bin a H. J. Townaend, del And whan she cam to Maries kirk, She sat on Maries stean :The cleading that fair Annet had on It skinkled in their een. And whan she cam into the kirk,She shimmerd like the sun ; The belt that was about her waist,Was a wi pearles bedone. She sat her by the nut-browne bride,And her een they wer sae clear, Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,When fair Annet she drew near. He had a rose into his hand,And he gave it kisses three, And reaching by the nut-browne bride,Laid it on fair Annets knee. Up than spak the nut-browne bride, She spak wi meikle spite ; And whair gat ye that rose-water, That does mak ye sae white ? O I did get the rose-waterWhair ye wull neir get nane, For I did get that very rose-waterInto my mithers wame. The bride she drew a long bodkin,Frae out her gay head-gear, And strake fair Annet unto the heart,That word she nevir spak mair. Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale,And marvelit what mote be : But whan he saw her dear hearts blude,A wode-wrot
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