Classic Poem

Sweet William's Ghost

Lady Margaret sat in her bowry all alone,
And under her bowry east window she heard three pitiful groans;
Oh, is it my father dear, she said, or is it my brother John,
Or is it my loving dear William from Scotland newly come home?

It is not your father, he said, nor is it your brother John,
But is your loving dear William from Scotland newly come home.
Oh have you brought me any gold, she said, or have you brought me any fee,
Or have you bro't any fine linnen from Scotland home to me?

I have not bro't you any gold, he said, nor have I bro't you any fee,
But I've brought you my winding sheet 'tis rotted off from me;
Give me my troth, Lady Margaret, he said, I'll give thee thine again,
For the longer I tarry and talk with you the sharper'll be my pain.

I will not give you your troth, she said, nor you give mine to me,
Until you carry me to fair Scotland your bowry for to see.
My bowry 'tis a poor bowry, it is both deep and dim;
My bowry 'tis a poor bowry to put a fair lady in.

I will not give you your troth, she said, nor will I have mine again,
Until you kiss my merry merry lips or wed me with a ring.
I cannot kiss your merry, merry lips, my breath it is so strong,
My face it is all worm-eaten, I am no living man.

She pulled up her petticoat, almost unto her knee,
And in a cold and a winter's night the pale ghost follow'd she;
Oh who are these, Sweet William, she said, are standing at your head?
They're three pretty maids, Lady Margaret, he said, that I refused to wed.

Oh who are these, sweet William, she said, are standing at your feet?
They're three children, Lady Margaret, he said, that I refus'd to keep.
Oh who are these, sweet William, she said, are standing by your side?
They're three pretty maids, Lady Margaret, he said, waiting my soul to guide.

The first is for my drunkenness, the second's for my pride,
The third is for my false swearing and wandering in the night;
Give me my troth, Lady Margaret, he said, I'll give thee thine again.
For the longer I tarry and talk with you the sharper'll be my pain.

She had a handkerchief in her hand, she spread it on the ground,
Saying, here is your faith and troth William, God lay your body down;
She had a willow in her hand, she laid it across his breast,
Saying, here is your faith and troth, William, I wish your soul at rest.

So here is your faith and troth, William, and give me mine again,
But if you're dead and gone to hell in hell you must remain.English