Classic Poem

Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
Ye maun gang to him soon;
Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
In case that his days are dune.

Janet 's awa to her father
As fast as she could hie:
O what 's your will wi' me, father?
O what 's your will wi' me?

My will wi' you, Fair Janet, he said,
It is both bed and board;
Some say that ye lo'e Sweet Willie,
But ye maun wed a French lord.

A French lord maun I wed, father?
A French lord maun I wed?
Then by my sooth, quo' Fair Janet,
He 's ne'er enter my bed.

Janet 's awa to her chamber
As fast as she could go;
Wha 's the first ane that tapped there
But Sweet Willie her jo?

O we maun part this love, Willie,
That has been lang between:
There 's a French lord coming o'er the sea
To wed me wi' a ring;
There 's a French lord coming o'er the sea
To wed and tak me hame.

If we maun part this love, Janet,
It causeth mickle woe;
If we maun part this love, Janet, It makes me into mourning go.

But ye maun gang to your three sisters,
Meg, Marion, and Jean;
Tell them to come to Fair Janet
In case that her days are dune.

Willie 's awa to his three sisters,
Meg, Marion, and Jean:
O haste and gang to Fair Janet,
I fear that her days are dune.

Some drew to them their silken hose,
Some drew to them their shoon,
Some drew to them their silk manteils,
Their coverings to put on;
And they're awa to Fair Janet
By the hie light o' the moon.

O I have born this babe, Willie,
Wi' mickle toil and pain;
Take hame, take hame your babe, Willie,
For nurse I dare be nane.

He 's tane his young son in his arms
And kisst him cheek and chin,
And he 's awa to his mother's bower
By the hie light o' the moon.

O open, open, mother, he says,
O open and let me in;
The rain rains on my yellow hair
And the dew drops o'er my chin,
And I hae my young son in my arms;
I fear that his days are dune.

With her fingers lang and sma'
She lifted up the pin,
And with her arms lang and sma'
Received the baby in.

Gae back, gae back now, Sweet Willie,
And comfort your fair lady;
For where ye had but ae nourice
Your young son shall hae three.

Willie he was scarce awa
And the lady put to bed,
Whan in and came her father dear:
Make haste and busk the bride.

There 's a sair pain in my head, father,
There 's a sair pain in my side;
And ill, O ill am I, father,
This day for to be a bride.

O ye maun busk this bonny bride
And put a gay mantle on;
For she shall wed this auld French lord
Gin she should die the morn.

Some put on the gay green robes
And some put on the brown;
But Janet put on the scarlet robes
To shine foremost throw the town.

And some they mounted the black steed,
And some mounted the brown;
But Janet mounted the milk-white steed
To ride foremost throw the town.

O wha will guide your horse, Janet?
O wha will guide him best?
O wha but Willie, my true-love?
He kens I loe him best.

And when they cam to Marie's kirk
To tye the haly ban',
Fair Janet's cheek looked pale and wan
And her colour gaed and cam.

When dinner it was past and done,
And dancing to begin,
O we'll go take the bride's maidens
And we'll go fill the ring.

O ben than cam the auld French lord
Saying, Bride, will ye dance wi' me?
Awa, awa, ye auld French lord,
Your face I downa see.

O ben than cam now Sweet Willie,
He cam wi' ane advance:
O I'll go tak the bride's maidens
And we'll go tak a dance.

I've seen ither days wi' you, Willie,
And so has mony mae;
Ye would hae danced wi' me mysel,
Let a' my maidens gae.

O ben than cam now Sweet Willie,
Saying, Bride, will ye dance wi' me?
Aye, by my sooth, and that I will,
Gin my back should break in three.

She had nae turned her throw the dance,
Throw the dance but thrice,
Whan she fell doun at Willie's feet
And up did never rise.

Willie 's ta'en the key of his coffer
And gi'en it to his man:
Gae hame and tell my mother dear
My horse he has me slain;
Bid her be kind to my young son
For father he has nane.

The tane was buried in Marie's kirk
And the tither in Marie's quire;
Out of the tane there grew a birk,
And the tither a bonny brier.