Willie o Winsbury (Child 100B)

'What 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?'