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Elphinstone Kist   Traditional Ballad, Music

Geordie     by: Traditional

‘Will ye go to the Highlands, my bonnie love,
Will ye go to the Highlands wi Geordie?
An ye’ll tak the high road an I’ll tak the low,
An I’ll be in the Highlands afore ye.

I wad far rather stay on the bonnie banks o Spey,
An see a the fish-boaties rowin,
Afore I wad go to your high Highland hills,
An hear a your white kye lowin.

He had not been on the high Highland hills,
Months but barely three o
Afore he was cast into prison strong
For huntin the deer an the roe o.

Where will I find a bonnie little boy,
Who will run an errand shortly,
An who will run on to the bonnie Bog o Gight
Wi a letter to Gighty’s lady?

‘Here am I, a bonnie little boy,
Who will run an errand shortly,
An will run on to the bonnie Bog o Gight
Wi a letter to Gighty’s lady.’

‘When that ye come where the grass grows long
Slack your shoes an run o;
When that ye come where the bridge is broke,
Bend your bow an swim o.

When that ye come to Gighty’s gates,
Stop neither to chap or call o,
But bend your bow right clean to your breast,
An jump right over the wall o.



When that he came where the grass grew long
He slacked his shoes an ran o,
An when he came where the bridge was broke,
He bent his bow an swam o.


When he came to Gighty’s gates,
He stopped neither to chap nor to call o,
But he’s bent his bow right close to his breast,
An jumped right over the wall o.


When that she looked the letter upon,
A loud, loud laugh laughed she o,
But ere she had the half o’t read,
The saut tear blinded her e’e o.

‘Go saddle to me the black horse,’ she cried,
‘The brown never rode so boldly,
Until I ride to Edinburgh toon,
To see an get life for my Geordie.’

But when she came to yon ford mou
The boatman he wasna ready,
But she clasped her hands round her high horse’s neck,
An she swam the ferry shortly.

When that she came to the pier a Leith,
The poor people they stood many,
She parted the yellow gold them among,
Bade them pray for the life a her Geordie.

When that she came to Edinburgh toon,
The nobles they stood many,
An every one had his hat on his heid,
But hat in hand stood her Geordie.

‘O has he killed, or has he brunt,
O has he robbit any?
Or what has my loved Geordie done,
That he’s going to be hangit shortly?’

‘He hasna killed, nor has he brunt,
Nor has he robbit any,
But he’s been a-huntin the King’s own deer,
An he’s going to be hangit shortly.’

‘Will the yellow gold buy off my bonnie love,
Will the yellow gold buy off my Geordie?’ -
‘It’s five hundred croons if ye wad pay doon,
Ye’ll get the hat on your Geordie.’

She’s taen the red mantle fae her neck,
She’s spread it oot fu bonnie,
An she’s taen the hat oot o Geordie’s hand,
An she’s beggit round them shortly.

Some gave her croons and some gave her pounds,
An some gave her hundreds many,
An the King himsel gien her one hundred more
To get the hat on her Geordie.

When she was on her high horse set,
An in behind her Geordie,
The bird ne’er sang sae sweetly on the bush
As she did behind her Geordie.

Oot an spak an Irish Duke,
An auld bow-leggit body,
Says, ‘I wish that Gighty had lost his heid,
Or I had gotten his lady.’

She turned her high horse quickly aboot,
An o but she wasna saucy,
Says, ‘Pox be upon your Irish face,
For ye never could compare wi my Geordie.’

First I was lady o bonnie Auchindoun,
An next I was lady o Gartly,
But noo I’m guidwife o the bonnie Bog o Gight,
An I beggit the life o my Geordie.’



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