Classic Poem

Come here, come here, you freely feed,
An' lay your head low on my knee;
The hardest weird I will you read
That e'er war read to a lady.

O meikle dollour sall you dree,
An' ay the sat seas o['e]r ye'[se] swim,
An' far mair dollour sall ye dree
On East-muir craigs, or ye them clim.

I wot ye 's be a weary wight,
An' releived sall ye never be
Till Kempion the kingis son
Come to the craig and thrice kiss thee.

O meickle dollour did she dree,
An' ay the sat seas o['e]r she swam,
An' far mair dollour did she dree
On Eastmuir craigs, or them she clim;
An ay she cried for Kempion,
Gin he would come till her han'.

Now word has gane to Kempion
That sich a beast was in his lan',
An' a[y] be sure she would gae mad
Gin she gat nae help frae his han'.

Now by my sooth, says Kempion,
This fiery beast I['ll] gang to see;
An' by my sooth, says Segramour,
My ae brother, I'll gang you wi'.

O biggit ha' they a bonny boat
An' they ha' set her to the sea,
An' Kempion an' Segramour
The fiery beast ha' gane to see;
A mile afore they reach'd the shore
I wot she gar'd the red fire flee.

O Segramour, keep my boat afloat,
An' lat her no the lan' so near,
For the wicked beast she'll sure gae mad
An' set fire to the land an' mair.

O out o' my stye I winna rise--
An' it is na for the fear o' thee--
Till Kempion the kingis son
Come to the craig an' thrice kiss me.

He's louted him o'er the East-muir craig
An' he has gi'en her kisses ane;
Awa' she gid an' again she came,
The fieryest beast that ever was seen.

O out o' my stye I winna rise--
An' it is na for fear o' thee--
Till Kempion the kingis son
Come to the craig an' thrice kiss me.

He louted him o'er the Eastmuir craig
An' he has gi'en her kisses twa;
Awa' she gid an' again she came,
The fieryest beast that ever you saw.

O out o' my stye I winna rise--
An' it is na for fear o' ye--
Till Kempion the kingis son
Come to the craig an' thrice kiss me.

He's louted him o'er the Eastmuir craig
An' he has gi'en her kisses three;
Awa' she gid an' again she came,
The fairest lady that ever cou'd be.

An' by my sooth, say[s] Kempion,
My ain true love--for this is she--
O was it wolf into the wood,
Or was it fish intill the sea,
Or was it man or wile woman,
My true love, that mis-shapit thee?

It was na wolf into the wood
Nor was it fish into the sea,
But it was my stepmother,
An' wae an' weary mot she be.

O a heavier weird light her upon
Than ever fell on wile woman;
Her hair 's grow rough an' her teeth 's grow lang,
An' on her four feet sal she gang.

Nane sall tack pitty her upon,
But in Wormie's Wood she sall ay won;
An' relieved sall she never be
Till St. Mungo come o'er the sea.