“An yours was good, an good enough, But nae sae good as mine; For yours was o the cumbruk clear, But mine was silk sae fine.
“An dinna ye mind, Love Gregor,” she says, “As we twa sat at dine, How we changed the rings frae our fingers, But ay the best was mine?
“For yours was good, an good enough, Yet nae sae good as mine; For yours was of the good red gold, But mine o the diamonds fine.
“Sae open the door now, Love Gregor, An open it wi speed, Or your young son that is in my arms For cauld will soon be dead.”
“Awa, awa, you ill woman, Gae frae my door for shame; For I hae gotten another fair love, Sae ye may hye you hame.”
“O hae you gotten another fair love, For a’ the oaths you sware? Then fair you well now, fa’se Gregor, For me you’s never see mair.”
O heely, heely gi’d she back, As the day began to peep; She set her foot on good ship-board, An sair, sair did she weep.
Love Gregor started frae his sleep, An to his mither did say, “I dreamd a dream this night, mither, That maks my heart right wae.
“I dreamd that Anny of Roch-royal, The flowr o a’ her kin, Was standin mournin at my door, But nane would lat her in.”
“O there was a woman stood at the door, Wi a bairn intill her arms, But I woud na lat her within the bowr, For fear she had done you harm.”
O quickly, quickly raise he up, An fast ran to the stran, An there he saw her Fair Anny, Was sailin frae the lan.
An “Heigh, Anny!” an “Hou, Anny! O Anny, speak to me!” But ay the louder that he cried “Anny,” The louder roard the sea.
An “Heigh, Anny!” an “Hou, Anny! O Anny, winna you bide?” But ay the langer that he cried “Anny,” The higher roard the tide.
The win grew loud, an the sea grew rough, An the ship was rent in twain, An soon he saw her Fair Anny Come floating oer the main.
He saw his young son in her arms, Baith tossd aboon the tide; He wrang his hands, than fast he ran, An plung’d i the sea sae wide.
He catchd her by the yallow hair, An drew her to the strand, But cauld an stiff was every limb Before he reachd the land.
O first he kissd her cherry cheek,’ An then he kissd her chin; An sair he kissd her ruby lips, But there was nae breath within.
O he has mournd oer Fair Anny Till the sun was gaing down, Then wi a sigh his heart it brast, An his soul to heaven has flown.