And sair, sair did he weep.

"O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,
The thoughts o' it gars me greet,
That Fair Annie of Rough Royal
Lay cauld dead at my feet."

"Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal
That ye make a' this din,
She stood a' last night at this door,
But I trow she wan no in."

"O wae betide ye, ill woman,
An ill dead may ye die!
That ye woudno open the door to her,
Nor yet woud waken me."

O he has gone down to yon shore-side,
As fast as he could fare;
He saw Fair Annie in her boat,
But the wind it tossd her sair.

And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie!
O Annie, winna ye bide?"
But ay the mair that he cried "Annie,"
The braider grew the tide.

And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie!
Dear Annie, speak to me!"
But ay the louder he cried "Annie,"