Tragical ballad of Lord John's murder/Lord John's Murder

LORD JOHN'S MURDER.

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Lord John stands in his stable door,
Says he, I will gae ride;
His lady, in her bigly bower,
Desired him to bide.

"How can I bide, how can I bide?
How shall I bide wi' thee?
When I ha'o kill'd your ae brother,
You hae nae mair but he."

"If ye ha'e kill'd my ae brother,
Alas! and wae is me;
If ye be well yoursel', my love,
The less matter will it be!

"Ye'll do you to yon bigly bower,
And take a silent sleep,
And I'll watch in my highest tower,
Your fair body to keep.'

She has shut her bigly bower,
All wi' a silver pin;
And done her to the highest tower,
To watch that nane come in.

But as she looked round about,
To see what she could see,
There she saw nine armed knights
Come riding o'er the lea.

"God make you safe and free, lady,
God make you safe and free!
Did you see a bludy knight
Come riding o'er the lea?"

"O what like was his hawk, his hawk?
And what like was his hound?
If his steed has ridden well,
He's pass'd fair Scotland's strand.

"Come in, come in, gude gentlemen,
And take white bread and wine;
And aye the better ye'll pursue,
The lighter that ye dine."

"We thank you for your bread, lady,
We thank you for your wine;
And I would gi'e my lands sae broad,
Your fair body were mine."

She has gane to her bigly bower,
Her ain gude lord to meet;
A trusty brand he quickly drew,
Ga'e her a wound sae deep.

"What harm, my lord, provokes thine ire,
To wreak itself on me,
When thus I strove to save thy life,
Yet served for sic a fee?"

"Ohon, alas! my lady gay,
To come so hastilie;
I thought it was my deadly foe,
Ye had trysted into me.

"O live, O live, my gay lady,
The space o' ae half hour,
And nae a leech in a' the land
But I'se bring to your bower."

"How can I live, how shall I live?
How can I live for thee?
Ye see my blude rins on the ground
My heart's blude by your knee!

"O take to flight, and flee, my love,
O take to flight and flee!
I wouldna wish your fair body
For to get harm for me."

"Ae foot I winna flee, lady,
Ae foot I winna flee;
I've dune the crime worthy o' death,
It's right that I should die.

"O deal ye well at my love's lyke,
The beer, but an' the wine;
For, ere the morn, at this same time,
Ye'll deal the same at mine.