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Oh Johnston and the young Colonel
Were drinkin high at wine;
'If you will marry my sister,
Then I will marry thine.'
'Oh no, oh no,' said the young Colonel,
'Such a thing shall never be;
I'll keep her as my housekeeper
When I come o'er the lea.'
Now Johnston had his gey broadsword
And a gey broadsword had he.
He reared it through the young Colonel,
Till a word he ne'er spoke more.
Then he spurred his steed and swift he ran
Like lightning o'er the lea;
Till he did come to his sister's gate
An he tinkled at the pin.
'I dreamt a dream, brother dear Johnston,
And I hope it's for your good,
They're seeking you with hound an hawk,
And the young Colonel is dead.'
'They are seekin me wi hound an hawk,
As I well expect they'll be;
And I have killed the young Colonel,
Your own true lover was he.'
'Begone, begone, you bloody knight,
Get ye begone from me;
If ye have killed the young Colonel,
You'll be no brother to me.'
He spurred his steed, and swift he ran
Like lightning o'er the lea,
Till he did come to his sweetheart's gate
An he tinkled at the pin.
'I dreamt a dream, love dear Johnston
I hope it's for your good,
They are seeking you with hound an hawk
And the young Colonel is dead.'
'They are seekin me wi hound an hawk,
As I well expect they'll be;
And I have killed the young Colonel,
Your own dear brother was he.'
'Come in, come in, Lord dear Johnston,
Come in an take a rest.
I care no more for the young Colonel
If your own dear body is safe.'
He was scarcely landed up the stairs
Into the tower above,
When four and twenty stout belted knights,
Came seekin him at the gate.
'Oh did you see a bloody knight,
And a bloody knight was he,
Oh did you see a bloody knight
Ride furiously o'er the lea?'
'Alight, alight, ye gentlemen,
An have some bread an wine.
If the steed be good he rides upon
He's across the bridge of Tyne.'
'Oh thank you lady, for your bread,
And thank you for your wine.
But I'd rather than thrice a hundred pounds
That your fair body was mine.'
Now Johnston had his gey broadsword
And a gey broadsword had he.
He reared it through the lady's heart
Till she dropped out on the floor.
'What ails ye now, love dear Johnston,
What ails ye now at me?
Haven't I given you all my father's land
Besides my mother's fee?'
'Oh live, oh live, Lady Margaret,' he cried,
'Oh live for one half-hour.'
'How can I live when my very heart's blood
Is trinklin on the floor?'
Now Johnston had his gey broadsword,
And a gey broadsword had he.
He reared it through his own false heart. . .
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