WESTLAND WELL
O where your throat was round, Janet,
It's lean and loose by this;
And where your lip was sweet, Janet,
It's grown too thin to kiss.
It's lean and loose by this;
And where your lip was sweet, Janet,
It's grown too thin to kiss.
The blood sprang in her cheek, fair Janet,
The blood sprang in her chin;
I doubt there's ane wad kiss me, mither,
Though I be sick and thin.
The blood sprang in her chin;
I doubt there's ane wad kiss me, mither,
Though I be sick and thin.
About the time of moon-rising
They set her saft in bed,
About the time of star-setting
They streekit her for dead.
They set her saft in bed,
About the time of star-setting
They streekit her for dead.
O ill be in your meat, Lord John,
And ill be in your wine;
Gin the bairn be none of your getting,
I'm sure it's none of mine.
And ill be in your wine;
Gin the bairn be none of your getting,
I'm sure it's none of mine.
Ill be in your bed, Lord John,
And ill be in your way,
Gin ye had been hangit a year agone,
I had been the merrier May.
And ill be in your way,
Gin ye had been hangit a year agone,
I had been the merrier May.
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