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220A: The Bonny Lass of Anglesley

220A.1	 OUR king he has a secret to tell,
	 And ay well keepit it must be:
	 The English lords are coming down
	 To dance and win the victory.
220A.2	 Our king has cry’d a noble cry,
	 And ay well keepit it must be:
	 ‘Gar saddle ye, and bring to me
	 The bonny lass of Anglesey.’
220A.3	 Up she starts, as white as the milk,
	 Between him and his company:
	 What is the thing I hae to ask,
	 If I sould win the victory?’
220A.4	 ‘Fifteen ploughs but and a mill
	 I gie thee till the day thou die,
	 And the fairest knight in a’ my court
	 To chuse thy husband for to be.’
220A.5	 She’s taen the fifteen lord[s] by the hand,
	 Saying, ‘Will ye come dance with me?’
	 But on the morn at ten o’clock
	 They gave it oer most shamefully.
220A.6	 Up then rais the fifteenth lord-+--+-
	 I wat an angry man was he-+--+-
	 Laid by frae him his belt and sword,
	 And to the floor gaed manfully.
220A.7	 He said, ‘My feet shall be my dead
	 Before she win the victory;’
	 But before ’twas ten o’clock at night
	 He gaed it oer as shamefully.

220B: The Bonny Lass of Anglesley

220B.1	 WORD has gane thro a’ this land,
	 And O well noticed it maun be!
	 The English lords are coming down
	 To dance and gain the victorie.
220B.2	 The king has made a noble cry,
	 And well attended it maun be:
	 ‘Come saddle ye, and bring to me
	 The bonny lass o Englessie.’
220B.3	 She started up, a’ dress’d in white,
	 Between him and his companie;
	 Said, What will ye gie, my royal liege,
	 If I will dance this dance for thee?
220B.4	 ‘Five good ploughs but and a mill
	 I’ll give you till the day ye die;
	 The bravest knight in all my court,
	 I’ll give, your husband for to be.’
220B.5	 She’s taen the first lord by the hand,
	 Says, ‘Ye’ll rise up and dance wi me;’
	 But she made a’ these lords fifeteen
	 To gie it up right shamefullie.
220B.6	 Then out it speaks a younger lord,
	 Says, ‘Fye for shame! how can this be?’
	 He loosd his brand frae aff his side,
	 Likewise his buckler frae his knee.
220B.7	 He sware his feet should be his dead
	 Before he lost the victorie;
	 He danc’d full fast, but tired at last,
	 And gae it up as shamefullie.

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