O, biggit ha they a bigly bowr,
And strawn it oer wi san,
And there was mair mirth i the ladies’ bowr
Than in a’ their father’s lan.

But out it spake their step-mother,
Wha stood a little foreby: 
“I hope to live and play the prank
Sal gar your loud sang ly.”

She’s calld upon her eldest son: 
“Come here, my son, to me;
It fears me sair, my eldest son,
That ye maun sail the sea.”

“Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,
Your bidding I maun dee;
But be never war to Rose the Red
Than ye ha been to me.”

“O had your tongue, my eldest son,
For sma sal be her part;
You’ll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth
Gin your very fair heart should break.”

She’s calld upon her youngest son: 
“Come here, my son, to me;
It fears me sair, my youngest son,
That ye maun sail the sea.”

“Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,
Your bidding I maun dee;
But be never war to White Lilly
Than ye ha been to me.”

“O haud your tongue, my youngest son,
For sma sall be her part;
You’ll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth
Tho your very fair heart should break.”

When Rose the Red and White Lilly
Saw their twa loves were gane,
Then stopped ha they their loud, loud sang,
And tane up the still moarnin;
And their step-mother stood listnin by,
To hear the ladies’ mean.

Then out it spake her, White Lily;
“My sister, we’ll be gane;
Why shou’d we stay in Barnsdale,
To waste our youth in pain?”

Then cutted ha they their green cloathing,
A little below their knee;
And sae ha they their yallow hair,
A little aboon there bree;
And they’ve doen them to haely chapel
Was christened by Our Ladye.

There ha they changed their ain twa names,
Sae far frae ony town;
And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy,
And the tither o them Roge the Roun.

Between this twa a vow was made,
An they sware it to fulfil;
That at three blasts o a buglehorn,
She’d come her sister till.

Now Sweet Willy’s gane to the kingis court,
Her true-love for to see,
And Roge the Roun to good green wood,
Brown Robin’s man to be.

As it fell out upon a day,
They a did put the stane;
Full seven foot ayont them a
She gard the puttin-stane gang.

She leand her back against an oak,
And gae a loud Ohone! 
Then out it spake him Brown Robin,
“But that’s a woman’s moan!”

“Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip? 
Or by my yallow hair;
Or ken ye by my milk-white breast? 
For ye never saw it bare?”

“I ken no by your red rose lip,
Nor by your yallow hair;
Nor ken I by your milk-white breast,
For I never saw it bare;
But, come to your bowr whaever sae likes,
Will find a ladye there.”

“Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within,
Thro fraud, deceit, or guile,
Wi this same bran that’s in my han
I swear I will thee kill.”