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Geordie (3)

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Geordie (3)

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Geordie (3)
(Robert Burns)

There was a battle in the north,
    And nobles there was many,
And they hae kill'd Sir Charlie Hay,
    And they laid the wyte on Geordie

O he has written a lang letter,
     He sent it to his lady;
Ye maun cum up to Enbrugh town
    To see what words o' Geordie.

When first she look'd the letter on,
    She was baith red and rosy;
But she had na read a word but twa,
     Till she wallow't like a lily,

Gar get to me my gude grey steed,
    My menzie a' gae wi' me;
For I shall neither eat nor drink,
    Till Enbrugh town shall see me.

And she has mountit her gude grey steed,
    Her menzie a' gaed wi' her;
And she did neither eat nor drink
    Till Enbrugh town did see her.

And first appear'd the fatal block,
    And syrie the aix to head him;
And Geordie cumin down the stair,
    And bands o airn upon him.

But tho' he was chain'd in fetters strang,
    O airn and steel sae heavy,
There was na ane in a'the court,
    Sae bruw a Man as Geordie.

O she's down on her bended knee,
    I wat she's pale and weary,
O pardon, pardon, noble king,
   And gie me back my Dearie!

I hae born seven sons to my Geordie dear,
    The seventh ne'er saw his daddie:
O pardon, pardon, noble king,
    Pity a waefu' lady!

Gar bid the headin-man mak haste!
    Our king reply'd fu' lordly:
O noble king, tak a'that's mine,
    But gie me back my Geordie.

The Gordons cam and the Gordons ran,
    And they were stark and steady;
And ay the word amang them a'
    Was, Gordons keep you ready.

An aged lord at the king's right hand
    Says, noble king, but hear me:
Gar her tell down five thousand pound
    And gie her back her Dearie.

Some gae her marks, some gae her crowns,
    Some gae her dollars many;
And shes tell'd down five thousand pound,
    And she's gotten, again her Dearie.

She blinkit blythe in her Geordie's face,
    Says, dear I've bought thee, Geordie:
But there sud been bluidy bouks on the green,
   Or I had tint my laddie.

He claspit her by the middle sma',
    And he kist her lips sae rosy:
The fairest flower o' woman-kind
   Is my sweet, bonie Lady!

Child #209
Tune: Geordie - An old Ballad (358)
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