| 1 |
O Johny's up thro England gane
Three quarters of a year,
An Johny's up thro England gane,
The king's banner to bear. |
| 2 |
He had not been in London town
But a very little while
Till the fairest lady in the court
By Johny gaes wi child. |
| 3 |
But word is to the kitchin gane,
An word's gane to the ha,
An word's gane to yon high, high court,
Amang our nobles a'. |
| 4 |
An when the king got wit o that
An angry man was he:
'On the highest tree in a' the wood
High hangit shall he be! |
| 5 |
'An for the lady, if it's true,
As I do fear it be,
I'll put her in yon castle strong,
An starve her till she die.' |
| 6 |
But Johny had a clever boy,
A clever boy was he,
O Johny had a clever boy,
His name was Gregory. |
| 7 |
'O run, my boy, to yon castle,
All windows round about,
An there you'l see a fair lady,
At a window looking out. |
| 8 |
Ye maun bid her take this silken sark-+-
Her ain hand sewd the gare-+-
An bid her come to the green wood,
For Johny waits her there.' |
| 9 |
Away he ran to yon castle,
All windows round about,
Where he espy'd a lady fair,
At a window looking out. |
| 10 |
'O madam, there's a silken sark-+-
Your ain hand sewd the gare-+-
An haste ye to the good green wood,
For Johny waits you there.' |
| 11 |
'O I'm confin'd in this castle,
Though lighted round about;
My feet are bound with fetters strong,
That I cannot win out. |
| 12 |
'My gartens are of stubborn ern,
Alas! baith stiff and cold;
My breastplate of the sturdy steel,
Instead of beaten gold. |
| 13 |
'Instead of silken stays, my boy,
With steel I'm lac'd about;
My feet are bound with fetters strong,
And how can I get out? |
| 14 |
'But tell him he must stay at home,
Nor venture here for me;
Else an Italian in our court
Must fight him till he die.' |
| 15 |
When Johny he got wit o that,
An angry man was he:
'But I will gae wi a' my men
My dearest dear to see.' |
| 16 |
But up then spake a noble lord,
A noble lord was he;
'The best of a' my merry men
Shall bear you company.' |
| 17 |
But up then spake his auld mother,
I wat wi meikle pain;
'If ye will gae to London, son,
Ye'l neer come back again.' |
| 18 |
But Johny turnd him round about,
I wat wi meikle pride:
'But I will gae to London town,
Whatever may betide.' |
| 19 |
When they were a' on horseback set,
How comely to behold!
For a' the hairs o Johny's head
Did shine like threads o gold. |
| 20 |
The first ae town that they gaed through,
They gart the bells be rung,
But the neist town that they gaed through
They gart the mass be sung. |
| 21 |
But when they gaed to London town
The trumpets loud were blown,
Which made the king and a' his court
To marvel at the sound. |
| 22 |
'Is this the Duke of Morebattle?
Or James the Scottish king?'
'No, sire, I'm a Scottish lord,
McNaughten is my name.' |
| 23 |
'If you be that young Scottish lord,
As I believe you be,
The fairest lady in my court
She gaes wi child by thee.' |
| 24 |
'And if she be with child by me,
As I think sae may be,
It shall be heir of a' my land,
And she my gay lady.' |
| 25 |
'O no, O no,' the king reply'd,
'That thing can never be,
Fore ere the morn at ten o clock
I'll slay thy men an thee. |
| 26 |
'A bold Italian in my court
Has vanquishd Scotchmen three,
And ere the morn at ten o clock
I'm sure he will slay thee.' |
| 27 |
But up the spake young Johny's boy,
A clever boy was he;
'O master, ere that you be slain,
There's mae be slain than thee.' |
| 28 |
The king and all his court appeard
Neist morning on the plain,
The queen and all her ladies came
To see youn[g] Johny slain. |
| 29 |
Out then stepd the Italian bold,
And they met on the green;
Between his shoulders was an ell,
A span between his een. |
| 30 |
When Johny in the list appeard,
Sae young and fair to see,
A prayer staw frae ilka heart,
A tear frae ilka ee. |
| 31 |
And lang they fought, and sair they fought,
Wi swords o temperd steel,
Until the blood like draps o rain
Came trickling to their heal. |
| 32 |
But Johny was a wannle youth,
And that he weel did show;
For wi a stroke o his broad sword
He clove his head in two. |
| 33 |
'A priest, a priest!' then Johny cry'd,
'To wed my love and me;'
'A clerk, a clerk!' the king reply'd,
'To write her tocher free.' |
