“And fair Marg’ret, and rare Marg’ret,
And Marg’ret, o’ veritie,
Gin ere ye love another man,
Ne’er love him as ye did me.”

Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
And up and crew the gray;
Her lover vanish’d in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.

Ballad:  Waly, Waly

(Mackay.)

O waly, waly, up the bank,
O waly, waly, down the brae. 
And waly, waly, yon burn side,
Where I and my love wont to gae. 
I leaned my back unto an aik,
An’ thocht it was a trustie tree,
But first it bow’d and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lichtly me.

O waly, waly, but love is bonnie
A little time while it is new,
But when it’s auld it waxes cauld,
And fades away like morning dew. 
O wherefore should I busk my head,
O wherefore should I kame my hair,
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he’ll never love me mair.

Now Arthur’s Seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne’er be pressed by me,
St. Anton’s well shall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me. 
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the tree! 
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? 
For of my life I am wearie!

’Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw’s inclemencie,
’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my love’s heart’s grown cauld to me. 
When we came in by Glasgow toun
We were a comely sicht to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kist
That love had been sae ill to win,
I’d locked my heart in a case of gold,
And pinned it wi’ a siller pin. 
Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse’s knee;
And I myself were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!

Ballad:  Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan

(Child, Part III., p. 220.)

“O wha will shoe my fu’ fair foot? 
And wha will glove my hand? 
And wha will lace my middle jimp,
Wi’ the new-made London band?

“And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
Wi’ the new made silver kaim? 
And wha will father my young son,
Till Love Gregor come hame?”

“Your father will shoe your fu’ fair foot,
Your mother will glove your hand;
Your sister will lace your middle jimp
Wi’ the new-made London band.

“Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,
Wi’ the new made silver kaim;
And the king of heaven will father your bairn,
Till Love Gregor come haim.”

“But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea,
For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
Since he canno come hame to me.”

O she has gotten a bonny boat,
And sailld the sa’t sea fame;
She langd to see her ain true-love,
Since he could no come hame.