Anonymous British

Lord Thomas and Fair Annet

Lord Thomas and fair Annet Sat all day on a hill When night was come and sun was set They had not talked their fill. Lord Thomas said a word in haste And Annet took it ill; I winna wed a dowerless maid Against my parents' will You're come of the rich, Thomas, And I'm come of the poor I'm o'er low to be your bride And I winna be your whore O fair Annet, O fair Annet This night you've said me no But long or ever this day month I'll make your heart right woe Come riddle my riddle dear mother, he said Come riddle it all in one Whether I will take fair Annet Or bring the brown girl home The nut-brown maid has gold and gear Fair Annet she has none And the little beauty fair Annet has O it will soon be gone Sheep will die in cots, mother And oxen die in byre And what's this world's wealth to me An I get not my heart's desire Where will I get a pretty little boy That'll run my errands soon That will run to fair Annet's bower And bid her to my wedding She mauna put on the black, the black Nor yet the dowie brown But the scarlet so red, and the kerchief so white And her bonny locks hanging down She has called her maries to her bower To lay gold in her hair Where'er you put a plait before See you lay ten times more When Annet was in her saddle set She flamed against the fire The girdle around her middle small Was worth an earl's hire The horse fair Annet rode upon He bounded like the wind With silver he was shod before With burning gold behind And when she came into the kirk She shimmered like the sun The belt that was about her waist Was all with pearls bedone Is this your bride, Lord Thomas ? she said I think she's wondrous brown You might have had as fair a bride As e'er the sun shined on Despise her not fair Annet, he said Despise her not now unto me For better I love thy little finger Than all her whole body Then out and spoke the nut-brown bride And she spoke out of spite O where got you that rose-water That washed your face so white ? O I did get the rose-water Where you will ne'er get none For I did get that rose-water Into my mother's womb The bride she drew a long bodkin From out her gay headgear And struck fair Annet to the heart A deep wound and a sair O art thou blind Lord Thomas, she said Or do you not well see O do you not see my own heart's blood Run trinkling down my knee ? He drew his dagger that was so sharp That was so sharp and meet And drove it into the nut-brown bride That fell dead at his feet O dig my grave, Lord Thomas he said Dig it both wide and deep And lay fair Annet by my side And the brown girl at my feet