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' gie corn unto my horse, An meat unto my man, For I will gae to my true-love's gates This night, gin that I can.' 'O stay at hame this ae night, Willie, This ae bare night wi me; The best bed in a' my house Sall be well made to thee.' 'I carena for your beds, mither, I carena ae pin, For I'll gae to my love's gates This night, gin I can win.' 'O stay, my son Willie, this night, This ae night wi me; The best hen in a' my roost Sall be well made ready for thee.' 'I carena for your hens, mither, I carena ae pin; I sall gae to my love's gates This night, gin I can win.' 'Gin ye winna stay, my son Willie, This ae bare night wi me, Gin Clyde's water be deep and fu o flood, My malisen drown ye!' He rode up yon high hill, An down yon dowie glen; The roaring of Clyde's water Wad hae fleyt ten thousand men. 'O spare me, Clyde's water, O spare me as I gae! Mak me your wrack as I come back, But spare me as I gae!' He rade in, and farther in, Till he came to the chin; And he rade in, and farther in, Till he came to dry lan. An whan he came to his love's gates, He tirled at the pin: 'Open your gates, Meggie, Open your gates to me, For my beets are fu o Clyde's water, And the rain rains oure my chin.' 'I hae nae lovers therout,' she says, 'I hae nae love within; My true-love is in my arms twa, An nane will I lat in.' 'Open your gates, Meggie, this ae night, Open your gates to me; For Clyde's water is fu o flood, An my mither's malison 'll drown me.' 'Ane o my chamers is fu o corn,' she says, 'An ane is fu o hay; Anither is fu o Gentlemen, An they winna move till day.' Out waked her May Meggie, Out o her drousy dream: 'I dreamed a dream sin the yestreen, God read a' dreams to guid! That my true-love Willie Was staring at my bed-feet.' 'Now lay ye still, my ae dochter, An keep my back fra the call, For it's na the space of hafe an hour Sen he gad fra yer hall.' 'An hey, Willie, an hoa, Willie, Winne ye turn agen?' But ay the louder that she crayed He rod agenst the wind. He rod up yon high hill, An doun yon douey den; The roring that was in Clid[e]'s water Wad ha flayed ten thousand men. He road in, an farder in, Till he came to the chine; An he road in, an farder in, Bat neuer mare was seen. * * * * Ther was na mare seen of that guid lord Bat his hat frae his head; Ther was na mare seen of that lady Bat her comb an her sneed. Ther waders went up an doun Eadying Claid's water Hav don us wrang = = ' corn to my horse, mither, Gie meat unto my man, For I maun gang to Margaret's bower Before the nicht comes on.' 'O stay at hame now, my son Willie, The wind blaws cald and sour; The nicht will be baith mirk and late Before ye reach her bower.' 'O the nicht were ever sae dark, Or the wind blew never sae cald, I will be In my Margaret's bower Before twa hours be tald.' 'O gin ye gang to May Margaret, Without the leave of me, Clyde's water's wide and deep enough, My malison drown thee!' He mounted on his coal-black steed, And fast he rade awa, But ere he came to Clyde's water Fu loud the wind did blaw. As he rode oer yon hich, hich hill, And down yon dowie den, There was a roar in Clyde's water Wad feard a hunder men. His heart was warm, his pride was up; Sweet Willie kentna fear; But yet his mither's malison Ay sounded in his ear. O he has swam through Clyde's water, Tho it was wide and deep, And he came to May Margaret's door, When a' were fast asleep. O he's gane round and round about, And tirled at the pin; But doors were steekd, and windows barrd, And nane wad let him in. 'O open the door to me, Margaret! O open amd lat me in! For my boots are full o Clyde's water And frozen to the brim.' 'I darena open the door to you, Nor darena lat you in, For my mither she is fast asleep, And I darena mak nae din.' 'O gin ye winna open the door, Nor yet be kind to me, Now tell me o some out-chamber Where I this nicht may be.' 'Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie, Nor here ye canna be; For I've nae chambers out nor in, Nae ane but barely three. 'The tane o them is fu o corn, The tither is fu o hay; The tither is fu o merry young men; They winna remove till day.' 'O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret, Sin better manna be; I've win my mither's malison, Coming this nicht to thee.' He's mounted on his coal-black steed, O but his heart was wae! But, ere he came to Clyde's water, 'Twas half up oer the brae. * * * * . . . . . . . . . he plunged in, But never raise again. = = stands in his stable-door, And clapping at his steed, And looking oer his white fingers His nose began to bleed.
