There was three score o nobles sat at the king's dine,
An bonny Glenlogie was flower o thrice nine.


. . . . cam trippin downstair,
An she fancied Glenlogie ower a' that was there.

She called on the footman that ran by his side,
Says, What is that man's name, an where does he bide?

‘His name is Glenlogie when he goes from home.
But he 's of the great Gordons, an his name is Lord John.’

‘Glenlogie! Glenlogie! Glenlogie!’ said she,
‘An for bonnie Glenlogie I surely will die.’

She called on her maidens to make her her bed,
. . . . . . . . . .


When Glenlogie got the letter, amang noblemen,
‘Dear me,’ said Glenlogie, ‘what does young women mean!’

Then up spake his father, Let it never be said
That such a fine lady should die for your sake.

‘Go saddle my black horse, go saddle him soon,
Till I go to Bethelnie, to see Lady Jean.’

When he got to Bethelnie, there was naebody there
But was weeping an wailing an tearing their hair.


‘Turn round, Jeanie Gordon, turn round to this side;
I 'll be the bridegroom, an ye 's be the bride.’