Classic Poem

Clarke Sanders and may Margret
Walkt ower yon gravel'd green,
And sad and heavy was the Love
I wat it fell this twa between.

A bed, a bed, Clark Sanders said,
A bed, a bed for you and I;
Fye na, fye na, the Lady said,
Untill the day we married be.

[For in] will come my seven brothers
And a' their torches burning bright;
Thayl say, We hae but ae sister,
And here her lying wi' a knight.

Ye'll take the sourde fray my scabbard
An lowly lowly lift the gin,
And you may say your oth to save
You never let Clarke Sanders in.

Yele take a napken in your hand
And ye'l ty up baith your e'en,
An ye may say your oth to save
That ye saw na him sen late yestreen.

Yele take me in your arms twa
Yele carrey me ben in to your bed;
And ye may say your oth to save
In your bower floor I never tread.

She has ta'in the sourd fray his scabbard
And lowly lowly lifted the gin;
She was to swear her oth to save
She never let Clark Sanders in.

She has ta'in a napken in her hand
And she has ty'd up both her e'en;
She was to swear her oth to save
She saw na him sine late yestreen.

She has ta'in him in her arms twa
An carried him ben unto her bed;
She was to swear her oth to save
He never in her bower floor tread.

In and came her seven brothers
And all their torches burning bright;
Says thay, We hae but ae sister,
And see there her lying wi' a knight.

Out an' speaks the first of them,
A wat thay hay been Lovers dear;
Out and speaks the next of them,
Thay hay been in Love this mony a year.

Out an' speaks the third of them,
It wear great sin this twa to twain;
Out an' speaks the fourth of them,
It wear a sin to kill a sleeping man.

Out an' speaks the fifth of them,
A wat thayl neer be twain'd by me;
Out an' speaks the sixt of them,
Wele take our leve an' gae our way.

Out and speaks the seventh of them,
Alltho there wear na a man but me--
[Out and speaks the seventh of them,]
Ise bear the brand, Ise gar him die.

And he has ta'in a bright long brand
And he has striped it throw the stra[e],
And throw and throw Clarke Sanders body
A wat he has gar'd cold iorn gae.

Sanders he started an' Margret she lapt
Intill his arms whare she lay,
An' w[i]ll and willsom was the night
A wat it was between this twa.

And thay lay still and sleeped sound
Untill the day begud to daw,
And kindly till him she did say
Its time trew Love ye wear awa.

They lay still and sleeped sound
Untill the sun begud to shine;
She lookt between her and [the] wa',
And dull and heavy was his e'en.

She thought it had been a leathsome 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.

O Sanders Ile do for your sake
What other Ladys wou'd na thoule;
When seven years is come an' gone
Ther 's neer a shoe go on my sole.

O Sanders Ile do for your sake
What other Ladys wou'd think mare;
When seven years is come an' gone
Ther 's nere a comb go in my hair.

O Sanders Ile do for your sake
What other Ladys wou'd think lack;
When seven years is come an' gone
Ill wear nought but dowy black.

The bells gaed clinking throw the town
To carry the dead corp to the clay,
An' sighing says her, may Margret,
A wat I bide a doullfou' day.

Hold your toung my doughter dear,
Let all your mourning a bee;
Ile carry the dead corp to the clay
An' I'll come back an comfort thee.

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' me.

When bells was rung an' mass was sung
A wat a' men to bed were gone,
Clark Sanders came to Margrets window
With mony a sad sigh and gro[a]n.

Are ye sleeping Margret, he says,
Or are ye waking presentlie;
Gie me my faith an' trouth again
A wat, trew Love, I gied to thee.

Your faith an' trouth yese never get
Nor our trew Love shall never twain
Till ye come within my bower
And kiss me both cheek and chin.

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

Cocks are crowing o' merry middel [earth],
I wat the wild fule boded day;
Gie me my faith an' trouth again
An' let me fare me on my way.

Thy faith and trouth thou shall na' get
Nor our trew Love shall never twin
Till ye tell me what comes of wemen
A wat that dys in strong traveling.

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

O cocks are crowing o' merry middel [earth],
A wat the wild foule boded day;
The salms of heaven will be sung
And ere now Ile be miss'd away.

Up she has ta'in a bright long wand
And she has straked her trouth thereon;
She has given him out at the shot window
Wi' mony a sad sigh and heavy groan.

I thank you, Margret, I thank you, Margret,
An' I thank you hartilie;
Gine ever the dead come for the quick
Be sure, Margret, Ile come again for thee.

It 's hose an' shoon an' goune alane
She clame the wall an' follow'd him,
Untill she came to a green forest,
An' then she lost the sight of him.

Is the[re] any roome at your head, Sanders,
Is the[re] any room at your feet,
Or any room at your twa sids
Whare fain, fain wad I sleep?

The[re] is na room at my head, Margret,
The[re] is na room at my feet;
There is room at my twa sids
For Ladys for to sleep.

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

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