Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE GAY GOSS HAWK (1) by ANONYMOUS

First Line: "O WELL IS ME, O' MY GAY GOSS HAWK"
Last Line: YOUR SISTER HAS PLAYED YOU SCORN
O Well is me o' my gay goss hawk
That he can speak and flee;
He'll carry a letter to my love,
Bring back another to me.
O how can I your true love ken
Or how can I her know,
Whan frae her mouth I never heard couth
Nor wi' my eyes her saw?
O well sal ye my true love ken
As soon as you her see,
For of a' the flow'rs in fair Englan'
The fairest flow'r is she.
At even at my love's bow'r door
There grows a bowing birk,
An' sit ye down and sing thereon
As she gangs to the Kirk.
An' four and twenty ladies fair
Will wash and go to kirk,
But well shall ye my true love ken
For she wears goud on her skirt.
An' four and twenty gay ladies
Will to the mass repair,
But well sal ye my true love ken
For she wears goud on her hair.
O even at that lady's bow'r door
There grows a bowin' birk,
An' she set down and sang thereon
As she ged to the kirk.
O eet and drink, my Marys a',
The wine flows you among,
Till I gang to my shot window
An' hear yon bonny bird's song.
Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,
The song ye sang the streen,
For I ken by your sweet singin'
You're frae my true love sen'.
O first he sang a merry song
An' then he sang a grave,
An' then he peck'd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.
Ha', there 's a letter frae your love,
He says he sent you three;
He canna wait your love langer
But for your sake he'll die.
He bids you write a letter to him,
He says he's sent you five;
He canna wait your love langer,
Tho' you're the fairest woman alive.
Ye bid him bake his bridal bread,
And brew his bridal ale,
An' I'll meet him in fair Scotlan'
Lang, lang or it be stale.
She 's doen her to her father dear,
Fa'n low down on her knee:
A boon, a boon, my father dear,
I pray you grant it me.
Ask on, ask on, my daughter,
An' granted it sal be;
Except ae squire in fair Scotlan',
An' him you sall never see.
The only boon, my father dear,
That I do crave of the[e],
Is gin I die in southin lands
In Scotland to bury me.
An' the firstin kirk that ye come till
Ye gar the bells be rung,
An' the nextin kirk that ye come till
ye gar the mess be sung.
An' the thirdin kirk that ye come till
You deal gold for my sake,
An' the fourthin kirk that ye come till
You tarry there till night.
She 's doen her to her bigly bow'r
As fast as she could fare,
An' she has tane a sleepy draught
That she had mixed wi' care.
She 's laid her down upon her bed
As' soon she 's fa'n asleep,
And soon o'er every tender limb
Cauld death began to creep.
Whan night was flown an' day was come
Nae ane that did her see
But thought she was as surely dead
As ony lady cou'd be.
Her father an' her brothers dear
Gar'd make to her a bier;
The tae half was o' guid red gold,
The tither o' silver clear.
Her mither an' her sisters fair
Gar'd work for her a sark;
The tae half was o' cambrick fine,
The tither o' needle wark.
The firstin kirk that they came till
They gar'd the bells be rung,
An' the nextin kirk that they came till
They gar'd the mess be sung.
The thirdin kirk that they came till
They dealt gold for her sake,
An' the fourthin kirk that they came till
Lo, there they met her make.
Lay down, lay down the bigly bier,
Lat me the dead look on;
Wi' cherry cheeks and ruby lips
She lay an' smil'd on him.
O ae sheave o' your bread, true-love,
An' ae glass o' your wine,
For I hae fasted for your sake
These fully day[is] nine.
Gang hame, gang hame, my seven bold brothers,
Gang hame and sound your horn;
An' ye may boast in southin lan's
Your sister has play'd you scorn.




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