Classic Poem

The Earl of Aboyne has up to London gone,
And all his nobles with him,
And three broad letters he sent into his love
He would wed another woman in London.

She has turned the honey month about,
To see if he was coming,
And lang three miles ere he came to the town
She heard his bridle ringing.

She 's went down unto the close and she 's taen him from his horse,
Says, Ye 're welcome home from London!
‘If I be as welcome, dear Peggy, as you say,
Come kiss me for my coming.

‘Come kiss me, come kiss me, dear Peggy,’ he said,
‘Come kiss me for my coming,
For tomorrow should have been my wedding-day
Had I tarried any longer in London.’

She has turned herself round about,
And she was an angry woman:
‘If tomorrow should have been your wedding-day,
You may kiss with your sweethearts in London.’

‘Go saddle me my steed,’ he said,
‘Saddle and make him ready;
For I must away to the bonny Bog of Keith,
For to visit the Marquis of Huntley.’

‘Go ask him, go ask, dear Thomas,’ she said,
‘Go ask if he 'll take me with him;’
‘I 've asked him once, and I 'll ask him no more,
For ye 'll never ride a mile in his company.’

‘Go make to me my bed,’ she said,
‘Make it soft and narrow;
For since my true lover has slighted me so,
I will die for him ere morrow.’

She has called her waiting-man,
And Jean her gentlewoman:
‘Go bring to me a glass of red wine,
For I 'm as sick as any woman.’

The bed it was not made nor well laid down,
Nor yet the curtains drawn on,
Till stays and gown and all did burst,
And it's alace for bonny Peggy Irvine!

The Earl of Aboyne was not at the Bog of Keith,
Nor met wi the Marquis of Huntley,
Till three broad letters were sent after him
That his pretty Peggy Irvine had left him.

He gave such a rap on the table where he sat
It made all the room for to tremble:
‘I would rather I had lost all the rents of Aboyne
Than have lost my pretty Peggy Irvine.’