Classic Poem

Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
He has wedded her with a ring;
Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye
But he daur na bring her hame.

Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear,
Your blessing now grant to me:
Instead of a blessing ye sall have my curse
And you'll get nae blessing frae me.

She has called upon her waiting maid
To fill a glass of wine;
She has called upon her fause steward
To put rank poison in.

She has put it to her roudes lip
And to her roudes chin;
She has put it to her fause, fause mouth
But the never a drap gaed in.

He has put it to his bonny mouth
And to his bonny chin;
He 's put it to his cherry lip
And sae fast the rank poison ran in.

O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,
Your ae son and your heir;
O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,
And sons you'll never hae mair.

O where will I get a little boy
That will win hose and shoon
To run sae fast to Darlinton
And bid fair Eleanor come?

Then up and spake a little boy
That wad win hose and shoon:
O I'll away to Darlinton
And bid fair Eleanor come.

O he has run to Darlinton
And tirled at the pin,
And wha sae ready as Eleanor's sell
To let the bonny boy in?

Your gude-mother has made ye a rare dinour,
She 's made it baith gude and fine;
Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour
And ye maun cum till her and dine.

It 's twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town,
The langest that ever were gane;
But the steed it was wight and the ladye was light
And she cam linkin' in.

But when she cam to Sillertoun town
And into Sillertoun ha',
The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning,
And they were weeping a'.

O where is now my wedded lord,
And where now can he be?
O where is now my wedded lord?
For him I canna see.

Your wedded lord is dead, she says,
And just gane to be laid in the clay;
Your wedded lord is dead, she says,
And just gane to be buried the day.

Ye 'se get nane o' his gowd, ye 'se get nane o' his gear,
Ye 'se get nae thing frae me;
Ye 'se na get an inch o' his gude broad land
Tho' your heart suld burst in three.

I want nane o' his gowd, I want nane o' his gear,
I want nae land frae thee;
But I'll hae the ring that 's on his finger,
For them he did promise to me.

Ye 'se na get the ring that 's on his finger,
Ye 'se na get them frae me;
Ye 'se na get the ring that 's on his finger
An' your heart suld burst in three.

She 's turn'd her back unto the wa'
And her face unto a rock,
And there before the mother's face
Her very heart it broke.

The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,
The tother in Marie's quair;
And out o' the tane there sprang a birk
And out o' the tother a brier.

And thae twa met and thae twa plat,
The birk but and the brier,
And by that ye may very weel ken
They were twa lovers dear.