Willie o Winesberry

No: 100; variant: 100G

  1. SEVEN years the king he staid Into the land of Spain, And seven years True Thomas was His daughter’s chamberlain.
  2. But it fell ance upon a day The king he did come home; She baked and she benjed ben, And did him there welcome.
  3. ‘What aileth you, my daughter Janet, You look sae pale and wan? There is a dreder in your heart, Or else you love a man.’
  4. ‘There is no dreder in my heart, Nor do I love a man; But it is for your lang byding Into the land of Spain.’
  5. ‘Ye’ll cast aff your bonny brown gown, And lay it on a stone, And I’ll tell you, my jelly Janet, If ever ye lovd a man.’
  6. She’s cast aff her bonny brown gown, And laid it on a stone; Her belly was big, her twa sides high, Her colour it was quite gane.
  7. ‘Is it to a man o the might, Janet, Or is it till a man o the main? Or is it to one o my poor soldiers, That I brought hame frae Spain?’
  8. ‘It’s not till a man o the might,’ she says, ‘Nor yet to a man o the main; But it’s to Thomas o Winsbury, That cannot longer len.’
  9. ‘O where are all my wall-wight men, That I pay meat and fee, That will go for him True Thomas, And bring him in to me? For the morn, ere I eat or drink, High hanged shall he be.’
  10. She’s turnd her right and round about, The tear blinded her ee: ‘If ye do any ill to True Thomas, Ye’se never get gude o me.’
  11. When Thomas came before the king He glanced like the fire; His hair was like the threads o gold, His eyes like crystal clear.
  12. ‘It was nae wonder, my daughter Janet, Altho ye loved this man; If he were a woman, as he is a man, My bed-fellow he would been.
  13. ‘O will ye marry my daughter Janet? The truth’s in your right hand; Ye’s hae some o my gold, and some o my gear, And the twalt part o my land.’
  14. ‘It’s I will marry your daughter Janet; The truth’s in my right hand; I’ll hae nane o your gold, nor nane o your gear, I’ve enough in my own land.
  15. ‘But I will marry your daughter Janet With thirty ploughs and three, And four and twenty bonny breast-mills, And a’ on the water o Dee.’