CLERK SAUNDERS and may Margaret Walkd owre yon garden green; And deep and heavy
was the love That fell thir twa between.
A bed, a bed, Clerk Saunders said, A bed for you and me! Fye na, fye na, said may Margaret, Till
anes we married be!
Then Ill take the sword frae my scabbard And slowly lift the pin; And you may swear, and
save your aith, Ye neer let Clerk Saunders in.
Take you a napkin in your hand, And tie up baith your bonnie een, And you may swear, and
save your aith, Ye saw me na since late yestreen.
It was about the midnight hour, When they asleep were laid, When in and came her seven
brothers, Wi torches burning red:
When in and came her seven brothers, Wi torches burning bright: They said, We hae but one
sister, And behold her lying with a knight!
Then out and spake the first o them, I bear the sword shall gar him die. And out and spake
the second o them, His father has nae mair but he.
And out and spake the third o them, I wot that they are lovers dear. And out and spake the
fourth o them, They hae been in love this mony a year.
Then out and spake the fifth o them, It were great sin true love to twain. And out and spake
the sixth o them, It were shame to slay a sleeping man.
Then up and gat the seventh o them, And never a word spake he; But he has striped1 his
bright brown brand Out through Clerk Saunders fair bodye.
Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turnd Into his arms as asleep she lay; And sad
and silent was the night That was atween thir twae.
And they lay still and sleepit sound Until the day began to daw; And kindly she to him did
say, It is time, true love, you were awa.
But he lay still, and sleepit sound, Albeit the sun began to sheen; She lookd atween her and
the wa, And dull and drowsie were his een.
Then in and came her father dear; Said, Let a your mourning be; Ill carry the dead corse to
the clay, And Ill come back and comfort thee.
Comfort weel your seven sons, For comforted I will never be: I ween twas neither knave nor
loon Was in the bower last night wi me.
The clinking bell gaed through the town, To carry the dead corse to the clay; And Clerk Saunders
stood at may Margarets window, I wot, an hour before the day.
Are ye sleeping, Margret? he says, Or are ye waking presentlie? Give me my faith and troth
again, I wot, true love, I gied to thee.
Your faith and troth ye sall never get, Nor our true love sall never twin,2 Until ye come within
my bower, And kiss me cheik and chin.
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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