Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
Until she cam to the millers dam.
Out then cam the millers son,
And saw the fair maid soummin1 in.
O father, father, draw your dam!
Theres either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.
The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drownd womàan.
You couldna see her middle sma,
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.
You couldna see her lily feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.
All amang her yellow hair
A string o pearls was twisted rare.
You couldna see her fingers sma,
Wi diamond rings they were coverd a.
And by there cam a harper fine,
That harpit to the king at dine.
And when he lookd that lady on,
He sighd and made a heavy moan.
Hes made a harp of her breast-bane,
Whose sound wad melt a heart of stane.
Hes taen three locks o her yellow hair,
And wi them strung his harp sae rare.
He went into her fathers hall,
And there was the court assembled all.
He laid his harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play by lane.2
O yonder sits my father, the King,
And yonder sits my mother, the Queen;
And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
But by him my William, sweet and true.
But the last tune that the harp playd then
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Was, Woe to my sister,
By the bonnie milldams o Binnorie.
IT fell on a day, and a bonnie simmer day,
When green grew aits and barley,
That there fell
out a great dispute
Between Argyll and Airlie.
Argyll has raised an hunder men,
An hunder harnessd rarely,
And hes awa by the back of
To plunder the castle of Airlie.
Lady Ogilvie looks oer her bower-window,
And O but she looks warely!
And there she spied
the great Argyll,
Come to plunder the bonnie house of Airlie.
Come down, come down, my Lady Ogilvie,
Come down and kiss me fairly:
O I winna kiss
the fause Argyll,
If he shouldna leave a standing stane in Airlie.
He hath taken her by the left shoulder,
Says, Dame, where lies thy dowry?
O its east and
west yon wan water side,
And its down by the banks of the Airlie.
They hae sought it up, they hae sought it down,
They hae sought it maist severely,
fand it in the fair plum-tree
That shines on the bowling-green of Airlie.
He hath taken her by the middle sae small,
And O but she grat sairly!
And laid her down by
the bonnie burn-side,
Till they plunderd the castle of Airlie.
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