So they sail'd on, and farther on,
Till to the water o' Tay,

There they spied a bonny little boy
Was waterin' his steeds sae gay.

What news, what news, my little boy?
What news hae ye to me?

Are there any weddins in this place?
Or any gaun to be?

There is a weddin in this place,
A weddin very soon;

The morn's the young squire's weddin day,
In the bonny towers o' Linne.

O then she walked alang the way,

To see what cou'd be seen;

And there she saw the proud porter,

Drest in a mantle green.

What news, what news, porter? she said,
What news hae ye to me?

Are there any weddins i' this place?

Or any gaun to be?

There is a weddin i' this place?

A weddin very soon,

The morn's young Bondwell's weddin' day,

The bonny squire o' Linne.

Gae to your master, porter, she said,

Gae ye right speedilie;

Bid him come and speak wi' a may,
That wishes his face to see.

The porter's up to his master gane,
Fell low down on his knee;
Win up, win up, my porter, he said,
Why bow ye low to me?

I hae been porter at your yetts
These thirty years and three;
But fairer mays than's at them now
My eyes did never see.

The foremost she is drest in green,

The rest in fine attire;

Wi' gowden girdles round their middles,

Well worth a sheriff's hire.

Then out it speaks Bondwell's ain bride, Was a' gowd to the chin;

They canno' be fairer thereone, she says, Than we that are herein.

There is a difference, my dame, he said, "Tween that ladye's colour and yours; As much difference as ye were a stock, She o' the lily flowers.

Then out it spaks him young Bondwell,
An angry man was he,

Cast up the yetts, baith wide an' braid,
These ladyes I may see.

Quickly up stairs dame Essel's gane,
Her maidens next her wi';
Then said the bride, This ladye's face
Shows the porter's tauld na lee.

The ladye unto Bondwell spake,
These words pronounced she:
Oh! hearken, hearken, fause Bondwell
These words that I tell thee.

Is this the way ye keep your vows,
That ye did make to me;

When your feet were in iron fetters,
Ae foot ye cou❜dna flee?

I stole the keys o' the jail-house door,
Frae under the bed they lay,
And open'd up the jail-house door,
Set you at libertie;

Gae ye a steed was swift in need,
A saddle o' royal bend;
A hunner pund o' pennies round,
Bade you gae rove an' spend,

A couple o' hounds o' ae litter,
Caen they caa'd the ane;

Twa gay goss-hawks as swift's e'er flew,
To keep ye on thought lang.

But since this day ye've broke your vows,

For which ye're sair to blame;

And since nae mare I'll get o' you,

O, Caen! O, Caen! the ladye cried,
And Caen he did her ken;

They baith flapt round the ladye's knee,
Like a couple o' armed men.

He's to his bride wi' hat in hand,
And hail'd her courteouslie.
Sit down by me, my bonny Bondwell,
What makes this courtesie?

An askin', an askin', fair ladye,
An askin' ye'll grant me.

Ask on, ask on, my bonny Bondwell,
What may your askin be?

Five hundred pund to ye I'll gie,
O' gowd an' white monee,

If ye'll wed John, my ain cousin,
He looks as fair as me.

Keep well your monie, Bondwell, she said,
Nae monie I ask o' thee;
Your cousin John was my first love,
My husband now he's be.

Bondwell was married at morning air,

John in the afternaun;

Dame Essels is ladye ower a' the bouirs, And the high towers o' Linne.

He sailed east, he sailed west,
Until he came to proud Turkey,
Where he was ta'en by a savage Moor,
Who handled him right cruellie.

For he viewed the fashions of that land,
Their way of worship viewed he;
But to Mahound or Termagant

Would Beichan never bend a knee.

So on each shoulder they've putten a bore,
In each bore they've putten a tye;
And they have made him trail the wine
And spices on his fair bodie.

They've casten him in a donjon deep,
Where he could neither hear nor see;
For seven long years they've kept him there,
Till he for hunger's like to dee.

And in his prison a tree there grew,
So stout and strong there grew a tree;
And unto it was Beichan chained,
Until his life was most weary.

This Turk he had one only daughter-
Fairer creature did eyes ne'er see;
And every day, as she took the air,
Near Beichan's prison passed she.

[And bonny, meek, and mild, was she,
Though she was come of an ill kin;
And oft she sighed, she knew not why,
For him that lay the donjon in.]

O! so it fell upon a day

She heard young Beichan sadly sing: [And aye and ever in her ears

The tones of hapless sorrow ring.]

My hounds they all go masterless;
My hawks they fly from tree to tree;
My younger brother will heir my land;
Fair England again I'll never see.

And all night long no rest she got,
Young Beichan's song for thinking on:

She's stown the keys from her father's head,