3: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
Versions from the Singing Tradition
1: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Willie Scott, Upper Monynut, Duns, Berwickshire
2: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Jimmy Stewart, Forfar, Angus
3: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Margaret Stewart (Maggie Johnstone), Springfield, Cupar, Fife
4: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Jane Turriff, Fetterangus, Aberdeenshire
5: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Archie Webster, Strathkinness, St Andrews, Fife
6: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Martha (Peasie) Reid, Torwood, Birnam, Perthshire
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VERSIONS FROM THE SINGING TRADITION
1: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Willie Scott, Upper Monynut, Duns, Berwickshire
2: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Jimmy Stewart, Forfar, Angus
3: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Margaret Stewart (Maggie Johnstone), Springfield, Cupar, Fife
4: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Jane Turriff, Fetterangus, Aberdeenshire
5: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Archie Webster, Strathkinness, St Andrews, Fife
6: Dowie Dens o Yarrow
As sung by Martha (Peasie) Reid, Torwood, Birnam, Perthshire
Oh there was a lady in yon town,
You scarce could find her marrow;
She was courted by nine noble Lords,
An' a ploughboy lad from Yarrow.
'Oh it's will you take my gun, my gun, [your gun
Or will you take my arrow;
Or will you take my gey broad sword,
An' a fight for me tomorrow?'
'Oh I will not take your gun, my gun, [your gun
Or will not take your arrow;
For it's I will take your gey broad sword,
An' I'll fight for you tomorrow.'
'For it's three he slew and three they flew,
And three lay sorely wounded;
When it's false behind came her brother John,
An' he slew him wi an arrow.
'Oh go home, go home ye cowardly dog,
An' tell your sister Saro,
That her true love John lies dead an' gone,
In the dowie, dowie dens of Yarrow.'
'Oh it's mother dear I dreamt a dream,
I dreamt it all through sorrow;
That I was puin heather bells,
In the dowie, dowie dens of Yarrow.'
'Oh it's daughter dear you've dreamt a dream,
You've dreamt it all through sorrow;
That your true love John lies dead an gone,
In the dowie, dowie dens o Yarrow.'
Oh her hair (h)it bein three quarters long,
An' the colour of it bein yellow;
She rolled rouund his middle small,
And she carried his corpse from Yarrow.
'Oh it's mother dear, oh make my bed,
Oh make it long an' narrow;
For them that died for me last night,
I'll die for them tomorrow.'
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