Posthumous Poems/Westland Well
WESTLAND WELL
Ye maun mak' me a scarlet gown, Lord John,
A scarlet gown to the knee;
It maun be sewn wi' a gowd needle,
To mak' fit wear to me.
A scarlet gown to the knee;
It maun be sewn wi' a gowd needle,
To mak' fit wear to me.
It maun be sewn wi' a gowd needle,
And spun o' silk for thread;
And ye maun gie me a band of silk,
To tie upon my head.
And ye maun gie me a sheet of silk
To put into my bed.
And spun o' silk for thread;
And ye maun gie me a band of silk,
To tie upon my head.
And ye maun gie me a sheet of silk
To put into my bed.
O wha was't made ye proud, Janet,
Or ever ye were born?
There's nae gowd in the land, Janet,
Is redder than the corn.
Or ever ye were born?
There's nae gowd in the land, Janet,
Is redder than the corn.
O wha was't taught you words, Janet,
Or wha was't learned you pride?
There's mony a better face than yours
Would fain lie neist my side.
Or wha was't learned you pride?
There's mony a better face than yours
Would fain lie neist my side.
O haud your tongue, Lord John o' the Mains,
I doubt ye hae drunken wine;
There is not a maid that wons in heaven
Wi' sic a face as mine.
I doubt ye hae drunken wine;
There is not a maid that wons in heaven
Wi' sic a face as mine.
Gin I were set in the high heaven,
And God's mother were set below,
I wad be queen of the high heaven,
And she wad be let go.
And God's mother were set below,
I wad be queen of the high heaven,
And she wad be let go.
When she cam in Lord John's bower,
She never had kissed man:
When she cam frae Lord John's bower
She was but his leman.
She never had kissed man:
When she cam frae Lord John's bower
She was but his leman.
O ye'll gar make me a bonny bed,
Ye'll make it warm and sweet,
Ye'll set a pillow to my head, mither,
And a pillow to my feet.
Ye'll make it warm and sweet,
Ye'll set a pillow to my head, mither,
And a pillow to my feet.
It fell about the middle May time
When the apple flowers wax red,
Her mither began to chide with her
She kept sae lang abed.
When the apple flowers wax red,
Her mither began to chide with her
She kept sae lang abed.
I canna stand to walk, mither,
But I'm just like to die,
And wae be to your bonny bloodhound
That bit me by the knee.
But I'm just like to die,
And wae be to your bonny bloodhound
That bit me by the knee.
Yestreen my maids took off the sheet
To wash i' the Westland Well,
And lest the bonny web suld ravel,
I set a hand mysel.
To wash i' the Westland Well,
And lest the bonny web suld ravel,
I set a hand mysel.
We washed the blue thread and the brown,
The white thread and the black;
And sae cam ben your fause bloodhound,
And bit me in the back.
The white thread and the black;
And sae cam ben your fause bloodhound,
And bit me in the back.
Sae sair it rent and bit, mither,
Sae sair it bit and clang,
And ever I hope in God, mither,
Ye'll gar that bloodhound hang.
Sae sair it bit and clang,
And ever I hope in God, mither,
Ye'll gar that bloodhound hang.
What's this o't now, maiden Janet?
What's this o't now? quo' she;
There's nae such hound that bites women,
There's nae such langs to me.
What's this o't now? quo' she;
There's nae such hound that bites women,
There's nae such langs to me.
Tell me now, Janet, she says,
And I winna gar ye lee,
Is this a hound's tooth or a child's shaping
That mars your straight body?
And I winna gar ye lee,
Is this a hound's tooth or a child's shaping
That mars your straight body?
O where your cheek was red, Janet,
Your cheek is sick and wan;
And where your back was right and flat,
It bows like a loaden man.
Your cheek is sick and wan;
And where your back was right and flat,
It bows like a loaden man.
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.