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king he hath been a prisoner, A prisoner lang in Spain, O And Willie o the Winsbury Has lain lang wi his daughter at hame. O 'What aileth thee, my daughter Janet, Ye look so pale and wan? Have ye had any sore sickness, Or have ye been lying wi a man? Or is it for me, your father dear, And biding sae lang in Spain?' 'I have not had any sore sickness, Nor yet been lying wi a man; But it is for you, my father dear, In biding sae lang in Spain.' 'Cast ye off your berry-brown gown, Stand straight upon the stone, That I may ken ye by yere shape, Whether ye be a maiden or none.' She's coosten off her berry-brown gown, Stooden straight upo yon stone; Her apron was short, and her haunches were round, Her face it was pale and wan. 'Is it to a man o might, Janet? Or is it to a man of fame? Or is it to any of the rank robbers That's lately come out o Spain?' 'It is not to a man of might,' she said, 'Nor is it to a man of fame; But it is to William of Winsburry; I could lye nae langer my lane.' The king's called on his merry men all, By thirty and by three: 'Go fetch me William of Winsbury, For hanged he shall be.' But when he cam the king before, He was clad o the red silk; His hair was like to threeds o gold. And his skin was as white as milk. 'It is nae wonder,' said the king, 'That my daughter's love ye did win; Had I been a woman, as I am a man, My bedfellow ye should hae been. 'Will ye marry my daughter Janet, By the truth of thy right hand? I'll gie ye gold, I'll gie ye money, And I'll gie ye an earldom o land.' 'Yes, I'll marry yere daughter Janet, By the truth of my right hand; But I'll hae nane o yer gold, I'll hae nane o yer money, Nor I winna hae an earldom o land. 'For I hae eighteen corn-mills, Runs all in water clear, And there's as much corn in each o them As they can grind in a year.' = = B.** * * ' aileth ye, my dochter Dysmill, Ye look sae pale and wan? Hae ye had ony sair sickness, Or ill luve wi a man? 'Cast aff, cast aff your bony brown goun, And lay't down on the stane, And I sall tell ye ay or no Ye hae layn wi a man.' She has taen aff her bony brown gown, She has laid it on the stane; Her waist was big, her side was round, Her fair colour was gane. 'Now is it to a man of micht, Or to a man of mean? Or is it to the ranke robber That robs upon the main?' 'O it's nor to a man of micht, Nor to a man of mean; But it's to Willie Winchberrie, That came frae France and Spain.' The king he's turnd him round about, An angry man was he: 'Gar bring to me your fals leman, Wha sall high hanged be.' Then Dysmill turnd her round about, The tear blinded her ee: 'Gin ye begin to hang, father, Ye maun begin wi mee.' When Willie he cam to the king, His coat was o the silk; His hair was like the thread o gowd, His skin white as the milk. 'Ne wonder, ne wonder,' quoth the king, 'My dochter shoud like ye; Gin ye were a woman, as ye're a man, My bedfellow ye sould be. 'Now will ye marry my dochter Dysmill, By the truth o your right hand? Now will ye marry my dochter Dysmill, And be a lord o the land?' = = king has been long seven years away, Long seven years away frae hame; Our king has been long seven years away, A hunting oer in Spain. * * * * 'What aileth thee, my ae daughter, Thou lookst so pale and wan? Hast thou had any sore sickness, Or hast thou loved man?' 'I have not had any sore sickness, To make me look sae wan; But it is for your own majestie, You staid sae lang in Spain.' 'Cast aff, cast aff thy silken gown, And lay it on yon stane, And I'll tell to thee if with child you be, Or if ye be with nane.' She's casten aff her costly gown, That's made o the silk sae fine; Her stays were sae strait she could na loot, And her fair colour was wan. 'Oh is it to any mighty man? Or any lord of fame? Or is it to the rank robbers That I sent out o Spain?' 'It is no to the rank robbers That you sent out o Spain; But it is to Thomas of Winsbury, For I dought na lie my lane.' 'If it be to Lord Thomas,' he says, 'It's hanged shall he be:' 'If you hang Thomas of Winsbury, You'll get na mair gude o me.' The king's called up his merry men all, By one, by two, and three; Lord Thomas should hae been the foremost man, But the hindmost man was he. 'No wonder, no wonder,' the king he said, 'My daughter loved thee; For wert thou a woman, as thou art a man, My bedfellow thou shouldst be. 'O will you marry my daughter dear, By the faith of thy right hand? And thou shalt reign, when I am dead, The king over my whole land.' 'I will marry your daughter dear, With my heart, yea and my hand; But it never shall be that Lord Winsbury Shall rule oer fair Scotland.' He's mounted her on a milk-white steed, Himself on a dapple-grey, And made her a lady of as much land She could ride in a whole summer day.