| 1 |
False Sir John a wooing came
To a maid of beauty fair;
May Colven was this lady's name,
Her father's only heir. |
| 2 |
He wood her butt, he wood her ben,
He wood her in the ha,
Until he got this lady's consent
To mount and ride awa. |
| 3 |
He went down to her father's bower,
Where all the steeds did stand,
And he's taken one of the best steeds
That was in her father's land. |
| 4 |
He's got on and she's got on,
And fast as they could flee,
Until they came to a lonesome part,
A rock by the side of the sea. |
| 5 |
'Loup off the steed,' says false Sir John,
'Your bridal bed you see;
For I have drowned seven young ladies,
The eight one you shall be. |
| 6 |
'Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
All and your silken gown,
For it's oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam. |
| 7 |
'Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
All and your embroiderd shoen,
For they're oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.' |
| 8 |
'O turn you about, O false Sir John,
And look to the leaf of the tree,
For it never became a gentleman
A naked woman to see.' |
| 9 |
He turnd himself straight round about,
To look to the leaf of the tree;
So swift as May Colven was
To throw him in the sea. |
| 10 |
'O help, O help, my May Colven,
O help, or else I'll drown;
I'll take you home to your father's bower,
And set you down safe and sound.' |
| 11 |
'No help, no help, O false Sir John,
No help, nor pity thee;
Tho seven king's-daughters you have drownd,
But the eight shall not be me.' |
| 12 |
So she went on her father's steed,
As swift as she could flee,
And she came home to her father's bower
Before it was break of day. |
| 13 |
Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:
'May Colven, where have you been?
What has become of false Sir John,
That woo'd you so late the streen? |
| 14 |
'He woo'd you butt, he woo'd you ben,
He woo'd you in the ha,
Until he got your own consent
For to mount and gang awa.' |
| 15 |
'O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,
Lay not the blame upon me;
Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,
Your cage of the root of the tree.' |
| 16 |
Up then spake the king himself,
In the bed-chamber where he lay:
'What ails the pretty parrot,
That prattles so long or day?' |
| 17 |
'There came a cat to my cage door,
It almost a worried me,
And I was calling on May Colven
To take the cat from me.' |
