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8 I wish you had your bow and arrow, Your arrow and your string ; I'd fly away to the heavens so high, Where I could for evermore sing.
2 It's I ain't coming in, nor I can't come in To stay all night with thee,
For I have a wife in old Scotland And this night she weeps over me.
3 It's out she drew her little penknife And stabbed him through his heart. She cried out with a very loud cry: There's a dead man in my house.
4 It's she picked him up by the middle so small, She picked him up by his feet,
She plunged him over in a deep, wide well Just about eighteen feet, feet, Just about eighteen feet.
5 And as she was sitting in her parlour door Thinking of what she had done,
She saw a bird and a very pretty bird All among the leaves so green, green.